


The Greatest Change

by DJClawson



Series: Acts of Deliberate Intent [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Airbending & Airbenders, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bending (Avatar), Catholicism, Earthbending & Earthbenders, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Lion Turtles, Marriage, Matt and Foggy as platonic soulmates, Order of the White Lotus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Red Room, The Avengers - Freeform, The Chaste, The regular kind, Tibetan Buddhism, Waterbending & Waterbenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9462662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJClawson/pseuds/DJClawson
Summary: "When we reach our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change." - Avatar AangAfter a decade in the red suit, Matt thinks he has this whole lawyer-by-day, father-and-vigilante-by-night thing down pat. And then the Chaste comes to town.





	1. What Makes Us Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! We're now in the fourth and final story of the Blackening Sky series, so if you're coming in now, you're going to be pretty lost. I recommend going back to [the first story.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4239552/chapters/9591450)
> 
> For everyone else: I know it's been a while, so let's do a quick refresher. Matt is a Black Sky (by this series' definition, not the show's, as this show ignores season 2 and diverges from it), Daredevil, and sometimes he gets around to being partner at a law firm with Foggy. They have an adopted son named Juan, who is also a Black Sky. Foggy is married to Marci, who is partner at her own firm with what turned out to be Foggy's previously-unknown bio-mom, Rosalind Sharpe. After a long absence, Karen is still working part-time for Nelson and Murdock, though she doesn't feature big into this story. Matt occasionally works with the Avengers, and he and Foggy are both members of the secret order known as the Order of the White Lotus (along with a bunch of other characters), which is led by Grand Lotus Master Izo, also current head of the Chaste. Bending is super rare and super hard-to-get (which is why most people don't have it or even know about it), but Matt is an airbender and Foggy is an earthbender. Matt has consistently tried to make amends with the people whom he's hurt or have hurt him, which led to Stick going off somewhere to hide in a cave or whatever. Oh, and Matt spent a year killing people for the Hand, but that's way in the past. Elektra is not a character in this series because I started it before season 2, and I'm not going to write her in now, when it wouldn't make sense. Matt does sleep around a bit though, and has a FWB thing going with Natasha, whose former Red Room teacher Inna is now a waterbending master.
> 
> The chapter posting will be a little slower at first, as I work to finish writing the story. (Don't worry; I know how it ends). 
> 
> As for the contents of this specific chapter - Don't worry! We'll be back in New York soon.
> 
> As always, thank you to Zelofheda for her tireless beta work.

Russia

1970’s

Inna was not a superstitious person, but her mother had been, and she’d instilled in her all of the peasant folklore of her youth, before religion became the opiate of the masses and defeating the capitalists became more of a worry than any demon. While Inna made it her business to remain skeptical, desperate times called for desperate measures, including not being completely dismissive of the dreams that started after her daughter was born. She was continuously stalling her superiors about sending her deformed daughter to an orphanage with the other children born of parents who worked in Uranium mines, knowing Raisa’s life would be short and miserable there. Inna’s profession meant sending Russian girls to die, but only with the proper training to try to prevent it.

Raisa didn’t know she was missing both her arms, and she could be a perfectly happy baby when she was warm and fed, but rations would not go to such a waste of resources, and Inna could not leave. Even if she had the paperwork, traveling with such a distinct infant would make it more difficult, to say nothing of what might happen to the girls under her care if she weren’t there to watch over them. They weren’t supposed to see her as their mother, or she to grow too attached, but it was impossible to avoid.

The dreams of the man with empty sockets where his eyes should have been were not any more horrifying than anything she had seen in person, and he didn’t seem to be in any pain. She didn’t understand his words, but he was trying to be comforting, and he was talking about her daughter. That much was communicated through the magic of the sleeping world.

The man who appeared during a particularly heavy snowfall did not look like him. The man in the dreams was not just a foreigner, but he was Asian, and crippled by someone’s actions. This man was younger, taller, and blind from birth or illness. His clouded eyes made him look like a ghost when the light of the candles flickered, but the rest of him was human. He was in his thirties, and spoke fluent Russian through an American accent. Despite his disability, he didn’t use his stick as a cane. He seemed perfectly  aware of where he was – in deep, deadly snow in the cold Russian winter, trying not to look like he was freezing.

“You’re here for Raisa,” she said.

He nodded.

She smiled; he was trying to act far more mysterious than he was. He might have some relation to that Asian specter, but deep down, he was a young man trying to hide that he was cold and exhausted and hungry. “Come inside or someone will see you.” No one would – even the guards had retreated inside to their vodka and propane stoves, and the girls were asleep. The facility was too remote for anyone to find it, or so it was assumed, since until this point, no one had without an invitation.

“I’ll make you something,” she said as she led him in to her private living quarters, a luxurious one-room extension made from an old wooden cabin. A box stuffed with old rags served as Raisa’s cradle.

“Don’t need anything,” the man said, and it was clearly a lie, but she didn’t call him on it. Inna still had the fire going in her little iron stove, and she turned the gas way up to heat leftover stew that was meant to augment her breakfast. Food went to the growing girls who would serve their country, not their teachers. She would go hungry but this man had a long journey and he needed the energy to make it.

She held out the vodka, because he didn’t seem to need any help locating things, even though he never looked directly at her. He took a sip and nearly choked on it, and she stifled a giggle. “Americans can’t hold their booze,” she said in English.

“Just went down the wrong hole,” he answered in his native tongue. Another lie, to save face. She let him have this one, too, as he turned his attention to the baby. The others were horrified by Raisa’s appearance, but he picked her right up.

Inna’s limited mothering instincts kicked in. “Hold her head!” She demonstrated by guiding one of his hands into the right position. He had an exceptional number of scars and callouses on his hand, the sign of a fighter.

But he was a fast learner when it came to babies, at least after she made him sit down properly while he practiced his technique. After a long silence of Inna heating and stirring up whatever she had on hand, he said, “They’re not usually this young.”

“The doctor says she won’t survive.”

The man scoffed at that. “ _X_ _ерня_.” (Bullshit) With her resting comfortably – surprising, since Raisa didn’t like to be held by anyone but her mother – the intruder felt her face and her head. “She has a lot of hair.”

“It’s black,” Inna said. “Like yours.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t know.”

The stew was mostly cabbage water, with some potatoes to add calories. In the summer there were herbs and vegetables, but the grounds were fallow now, and everything in her root cellar was used up. She took the baby from him and offered him the pot and a spoon, since she didn’t have a spare bowl. “Eat.”

This time he didn’t protest. He didn’t complain about the concoction that was mostly bitter and tasteless to his American senses. He ate it greedily, further betraying his appetite. This was the type of man Inna was familiar with – the type that thought he could do anything and was just learning he couldn’t.

But he had just trekked deep into the Russian wilderness to save her daughter, so she decided not to be too harsh in her assessment of him. “What will happen to her?”

“It’s better if you don’t know,” he said. “But she’ll be okay. They’ll take care of her, raise her, educate her.”

“Like they did with you?”

He didn’t make any attempt to deny it. “Would you believe me if I said she’s going to help save the world?”

“No.”

“It is all I can tell you,” he said.

When he made motions like he was going to pack up and leave, she stopped him. “I need to feed her. It’ll be easier for you if I do. Do you have supplies?”

He opened his bag and produced bottles of formula that cost a fortune on the Russian market.

“You need to heat them first,” she said as she took Raisa in her arms. Raisa wasn’t hungry yet, but she could be convinced. “But not too hot. You’ll burn her.”

“I know.”

She offered him the bottle of vodka again, which he accepted. Maybe it would slow down his leaving. This time he managed to get through some of it. In the quiet, punctuated only by gurgling from Raisa, the man tilted his head to the side. “Interesting set-up you’ve got here. Is this a prison?”

“No.”

“The girls don’t try to escape?”

So far, none of them had. They wouldn’t make it far, even if they did, and they all knew that. “No.”

“But you have them chained up.”

How did he know that? How much did he know about the program? “What’s your name?”

“Stick.”

She wasn’t aware that the word was also an American name. “I’ll trade you. You answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

‘Stick’ shrugged and took another swig of vodka. “Shoot.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“You know I can’t answer that,” he said, but he was grinning. “Let’s just say it’s much warmer. Even the alcohol is served hot.” He fiddled with the bottle. “What happens if the girls have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Does someone unchain them?”

Despite herself, she smiled. “They hold it.” She felt Raisa press her body against her own, trying to maneuver without arms. “Will I see her again?”

“When she’s adult, if she wants to go look for you, she can. But that’s her choice.”

“Did you look for your parents?”

It was the wrong question to ask. Stick frowned. “No.” He twirled his head again, picking up on things that must have only been sounds and smells. “What about these kids? All willing volunteers?”

“Orphans,” she replied. “Will you watch over her? For me?”

“Heh.” He made a motion over his face. “I’m not so great with keeping an eye on people.”

“The man who sent you – he has no eyes. Just sockets. But I assume he’s your superior. Maybe even found and raised you.”

Stick didn’t fight the accusation. He seemed amused at it more than anything. “You have us there.”

“Why do you want her? What’s special about her?”

“Who’s the guy with the metal arm?” he retorted. The Winter Soldier had left early in the afternoon, just before dark, so Inna realized Stick must have been watching and waiting for him to leave.

“A teacher,” she said, because it wasn’t a lie. “What’s special about her?”

Stick sighed, and leaned his chair back against the wall. “There’s a phrase in English – ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’ It means when something unbelievably good comes your way, you might not want to question it so much.”

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t give her to you.”

“You’re lying,” he said with uncanny confidence.

She tugged Raisa tighter to her breast. “Tell me _something_.”

Stick’s non-gaze wandered as his head shifted around, never even remotely in her direction, but not as an avoidance tactic. It was just the way he seemed to operate. “I can tell you that she’ll be safe, that she’ll get a good education, and she will never, ever have to take shit about being a cripple.” When she didn’t respond, he relented. “And I’ll ... do my best to make sure she’s okay. At least until she’s a little older and can take care of herself. Kids learn fast.”

“Can you write?” she begged. “I have a box in Moscow that’s safe.”

“I’m not really allowed.”

“I don’t care if you _should_ ,” she said. “I want to know if you _could_.”

For the first time, Stick squirmed. “Not in Russian.”

“English, then?”

“Yes. But – “

“You don’t have to give me any real information. You don’t have to identify yourself or give me clues as to where she is. I won’t try to find you or her. I just want to know that she’s alive.”

“And if she isn’t?”

She hoped he was referring to the predicted survival rates for someone born of a parent with radiation poisoning. “I want to know that, too.”

Stick paused before speaking again. “What is this place? What are you doing here? Is it a Cold War thing?”

“We’re training orphans with nowhere else to go how to serve their country in exchange for protection and an education,” she said.

“Then we’re not so different.” His defiant smile was back. “Though my people are not so into politics between nation states.”

“Then we shouldn’t have to fight.” Because she couldn’t discard the possibility for down the road.

“It would definitely better if we didn’t.” Stick rose. He was handling the vodka better than he thought she would. “I should go before the guards wake up.”

He had with him a surprising amount of gear in his small bag. Most of it folded down, and it included a high-quality, American-made baby carrier for men, the proper size and shape for her daughter, as well as layers of baby clothing made of thermal gear and soft fleece. Inna wrapped her in a blanket anyway, so she could take something of her mother with her, since Raisa had no dolls or toys.

“Be good,” she said in Russian to her daughter as she kissed her head before the bonnet went on. She looked up at Stick’s face with her tear-stained eyes. He must have known – her voice was breaking. He flinched as she touched him, cupping both her hands around his head so he was facing her. “Write me. Even if it’s only once.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Promise me you’ll try,” she said, “or I’ll slit your throat right here and now and feed you to the dogs. And your faceless master will have to find another way to get her.”

“I was told Russians were cruel.” He was not intimidated – he was a dangerous man himself – but then he said, “I’ll try.”

And then he disappeared back into the woods, carrying his wooden staff and looking like a wizard who vanished into the wilderness, and it started to snow again.

And Inna stopped her crying, because the children were waking up. It was time to get to work.

***********************************

It was two years before Inna could find a reason to be in Moscow, and three agonizing days before the surveillance job was finished. Her oldest student had performed well, especially for her age. Inna was proud of her, but afraid of what going into the world might mean. It could only lead to violence. She’d known that for years, but seeing it firsthand was different.

On the fourth day she met with an old friend, and that night he came by with the contents of her post office box, which she obtained from him with a generous cash bribe for one envelope. She waited until she was back in the safehouse to read it, and hid in the closet for good measure. The return address was Leningrad, but the stamp said Malaysia. Inside, there was only one sheet of paper folded over many times to fit in the simple envelope. A different person had written the address, because the handwriting inside was atrocious. Some letters were lazily written, just a collection of scattered dashes, while others betrayed intense concentration and letters that almost tore through the paper from the force with which they had been drawn. The sizes were all different, with little relation to each other, which was why the short message took up the whole page.

It was the work of a person who had never seen his own handwriting. It read:

_She’s fine. Just started walking._

For the first time since parting with her daughter, Inna cried.

 

***********************************

Inna honestly didn’t expect much more contact than that; Stick had been so reluctant to send her anything in the first place, and the letter was obviously so difficult to write that he must have been afraid enough of his superiors to not be able to ask for help, which meant he was going behind their backs. She broke her promise and made some rudimentary attempts to see if his name or description (he was pretty distinct) popped up in the right channels, but it never did. Whatever his group’s game was, it wasn’t about defeating the American Empire or fighting for the glory of Mother Russia. So it was a genuine surprise when another letter was in her box two years later, postmarked from Mongolia. There was no note this time, just a picture of Raisa sitting on a cushion on the floor, painting the canvas in front of her by clutching the brush between her toes, which were calloused from their unusual use. Any identifying elements of the background had been framed out and her clothing was handmade. Her hair was kept short and looked brushed. She wasn’t looking into the camera – she might not have known it was there – but she looked happy.

Inna wanted to write – to ask more questions, ask for more pictures – but most of all, to thank him. She knew almost nothing about him despite being trained to read people, but he’d put his life on the line for her daughter at least once and was probably continuing to do so. That deserved acknowledgment.

It was another year before she saw him, sitting casually at the corner table at the bar, closest to the window, so someone passing by might be able to notice him, even if his head was turned away. This time he was clean-shaven and wore sunglasses despite the cloudy winter sky. He was smoking, with only an ashtray and a half-empty liquor bottle in front of him.

When she lost her minder and retraced her steps, the only thing left on the table was a hotel key under the ashtray.

She had more work to do that day, in the short hours before the long night began, scouting out new safe houses for the latest graduates, ready for their first mission. Some of them would be new to the city, or any city, and they deserved one last leg up. It was midnight before she made it to the hotel room, which was empty except for a package of crackers and, of course, vodka on the dresser.

Stick wasn’t far behind. He had a proper cane instead of a wooden walking stick, but it was folded up at his side, and his dress was convincingly Russian, at least for a spy, or whatever he was. There was blood on his shoes, but they were dark enough that it took a real expert in bloodstains to notice it, and most people would chalk it up to paint. It had to be fresh.

“I wasn’t expecting to stay so long,” he said. “I don’t have pictures.” He sounded almost guilty. He was not the overconfident man she’d met before; something had shaken him. “But she’s fine. She’s good.”

“What’s her name now?” Inna took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Stick slumped into the chair in the corner, next to the little table. “Raiko,” he said, and uncorked the liquor. He offered her some but only by way of gesturing with the bottle neck in her direction. Without thinking, she wordlessly gestured to him, but to no great surprise, he reacted like an ordinary person and started drinking it himself,  as though he had seen her. “What else do you want to know?”

“Does she ask about me?”

“It’s a mixed group,” he said. “A lot of orphans. No one with a very conventional family.” Meaning, she might not have a reason to miss a mother she didn’t remember.

“Will you pass a message on to her?”

“No.” He was firm in his answer. This was not something she could negotiate. “You wanted to save her life and we did that for you. What else do you want to know? That she’s acrobatic? What she excels at math? What her favorite color is?”

But _he_ had invited _her_ to the hotel tonight, so there must have been some reason behind it. He didn’t seem like someone with a lot of time in his life to wander about, making small talk and chatting up old friends. His Russian was much better – his accent was less distinct – so he had more experience under his belt, but doing what, she had no idea.

“I ran into your friend the other day,” Stick said, making quick work of the vodka.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Glad I didn’t have to pick a fight with him,” he said. “He’s dangerous. People like that can turn on you. He’s too focused on one task to be predictable for the next.”

“I don’t know anything about him,” she said, a little more insistently this time.

Stick smiled. “You don’t even know if he’s a good teacher?”

“He’s with a different program,” she admitted. “I’m not sure who you think I am, but my primary function is as a schoolteacher. It is where I am most suited and where my efforts are concentrated. And I’m not stupid enough to ask questions about things that do not concern my students.”

“What do you teach? Russian literature?” Stick chuckled a little drunkenly. This was not his first binge of the night. “How to balance a book on your head? Or whatever they teach in girl’s schools.”

“And you look like an art teacher to me,” she replied. “Maybe social studies. What is my daughter’s favorite color?”

“Hell if I know,” he said. “But she’s a real gymnast. People know not to underestimate her. If they didn’t know before, they’ve learned.”

“What language does she speak?”

On this he hesitated, only for a second. “Japanese.”

“She’s my daughter,” Inna said. “I know I gave her up, and I know I can’t try to find her. But I will never stop loving her and I will never stop wanting to know every single thing about her life.”

Stick said nothing as he finished off the bottle.

“How old were you, when they took you?”

“Six,” Stick answered. “And he didn’t _take_ me. I wanted to go.”

So, not a very good home life. Having a blind child would be a strain on any parents, if he had lived with his parents before. Inna could put all of those pieces together herself, but she didn’t know why Stick was being so honest. He was close to being downright open. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“I mean here, tonight.” She tapped on the bed for emphasis. “Talking to me.”

Stick played with the empty bottle in his lap. “I don’t know.” He got to his feet, though he needed to steady himself with a hand on the furniture to do it. “I’ll go.”

He stumbled, but he could walk. She stopped him, putting both hands on his arms to stop him from swaying slightly. “You can’t leave.” Now that she was closer, she could see the stained clothing under his jacket. “You’re covered in blood.”

Stick grimaced. “‘Covered’ is a relative term.”

“People will notice.” She really was holding him back from the door at this point. If he wasn’t drunk, he definitely would have escaped her. “What did you do?”

“What I was told was the right thing to do,” Stick said. “And it was. Technically.” His head bobbed a little. “Raiko was one of the lucky ones.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t want to know,” was his response, with his inflection implying that, despite her current occupation and all of its implications about her fortitude, this was something she should not wander into. “She’ll be okay. She’ll ... live. She’ll live.” But someone else had not had that luck today. “They don’t all get to live.”

“Stick,” she implored him, “you’re drunk and your clothes are soaked in blood. You can’t go out there now. Stay here until you sober up.”

He shook his head, an act that probably made him dizzy. “I can’t. I’m not allowed. I just need to – “ He dodged to the left, but staggered after a few steps. “I need to throw up.”

The hotel room had a waste bin and she was quick on her feet. It didn’t make it pretty, but it prevented a bigger mess. She had a flask on her to give him something to wash his mouth out and he collapsed in the chair.

“Don’t talk,” she told him. “I’m not going to pry any more secrets out of you. Just stay and rest.”

“I can’t, I – “ But there was no more fight left in him. She helped him remove his coat, shoes, and his sweater, and he fell asleep on top of the covers, so he wouldn’t bloody the sheets.

There were two tiny twin beds, and she took the other one, staying awake and aware until Stick drifted into a boozy, deep sleep.

***********************************

In what passed for the morning in the winter in Russia – complete darkness until eleven in the morning – she cleaned herself up and went out for a packaged breakfast and expensive coffee (Americans loved coffee, didn’t they?), and she didn’t rush, in case Stick wanted to sneak out. She had to give him that dignity. But he didn’t take it, and he was meditating on the floor when she entered. It couldn’t have been that deep, because he stirred immediately and accepted the offer of black bread and butter.

“Did I say anything last night?”

“After I told you to go to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t _that_ drunk,” she said, a little amused.

“Did we do anything?” His voice was strangely innocent, like he didn’t really know what he was asking, which was why the question was so general.

They’d both slept in their clothes so ... obviously not, right? “Why are you asking?”

Despite being fresh, the bread was still hard and Stick chewed for a long time. “We’re called ‘The Chaste.’”

“You’re monks?”

“I don’t think monks are allowed to drink as much as we do,” Stick said. “And I know a bunch.”

He probably meant Japanese monks, but she still didn’t know that for sure. She was more interested in how the thought had entered his mind. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Sex is a weapon,” she said. “People use it.”

“It’s a distraction,” he said, but only because someone told him that enough times that he believed it. And it was a good way to avoid being seduced by a spy. “Relationships – other people – they’re distractions.”

“Am I a distraction to you?”

Stick frowned. “Probably. But don’t ... don’t take it personally.” The guilt felt was on his end. He stood up, folding out his cane and putting on his soft fur hat. “It was nice to see you.”

“I know you’re busy,” she said, “and technically you don’t have to. You’ve done more than enough. But – “

“Your daughter.” He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

***********************************

Stick kept his promise as best as he could. Inna wasn’t in Moscow often, but when she did get there, there were three letters from Stick, all painstakingly scrawled in English.

_Writing well now. She’s taking calligraphy._

_Won her first sparring match today._

_Can do a cartwheel. Started learning a second language._

The implication was clear that she was being trained for something, and no one was assuming that her deformity would hold her back from it. This was the daughter who made the mid-wife (a fellow teacher, an ex-Widow herself) scream in horror and almost drop her, so Inna was just grateful that she was alive at all, much less thriving on what as well have been another planet.

The next time Inna saw Stick, the circumstances  were even less fortunate.

One of her students had gone on a deep covert operation, nothing unusual unto itself,  which dealt with human trafficking out of the country. It wasn’t unusual for idiot Americans to overpay for a poor Soviet orphan, but something else was suspected, especially for those prices. There were students of the Black Widow program that Inna never saw again, whether they lived or died, and she sometimes never knew the difference, but not asking was how she kept her job (and stayed alive). 

Then the student requested backup. The mafia cartel within Russia was expanding rapidly, and stocking up on guns and munitions while investing in cargo containers. They were in contact with some Japanese group using the diplomatic offices in Moscow as a front, which meant they were very rich and very well-connected, and they were willing to overpay for what they were looking for. She didn’t know what that was, only that it was very specific, and involved more security forces than it should. The accounts showed nothing – the Japanese worked in code – except enough rubles to purchase a small amount of nuclear material, and they were willing to spend it on a child instead. In fact, it looked like they were interested in covering up the actual purchase with an illicit nuclear deal, the kind that attracted the worst kind of attention, so they were either exceptionally bad at their jobs or had a better understanding of the market than anyone else.

Inna got involved because she’d spent some time teaching herself Japanese, for no purpose that she revealed to her superiors. She went to Leningrad, then Moscow chasing account books and surveillance video while the Black Widow maintained her cover as the boss’s new girlfriend. They were able to determine when the exchange would happen in a shipping town on the coast of the Black Sea.

They were right about the timing but wrong about the intent. By the time Inna could intervene, her student was dead and so were several people on both sides. The gunfire was excessive after the boss, a party agent, was stupid enough to demand more money from the Japanese, in their expensive silk suits and fancy haircuts. They took the child (it was a boy) and turned on him. They might have made a quick escape, minus a few people, without the appearance of Stick, whom they immediately and somewhat obviously recognized, because they altered their plan and concentrated their fire on him.

Then one of the Japanese took a small dagger and slit the very expensive child’s throat. He didn’t stop until the head was almost severed.

The Russians abandoned the project, leaving behind a briefcase full of money, but also leaving their dead. The Japanese were finished off by Inna and Stick, who were too trained to need to pause and acknowledge each other mid-combat. She had guns; he had a sword. Neither was afraid of getting bloody. Stick hunted down the last escapees, and returned to the boathouse with his black gear hiding most of the blood.

The sound of their heavy breathing was the only thing filling the now-empty space for a moment.

“Shit,” Stick said in English as he knelt next to the dead boy and laid a hand on his chest.

“Who was he?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stick said, and it probably really didn’t, at this point. “Do you know a way out of here?”

Inna had no time for sentimentalities, either, and only glanced at the dead Widow. “There’s a dacha near here we can use as a safehouse.”

“Good enough.”

They didn’t talk on the way there. They didn’t even really talk when they got there, though Inna felt compelled to point out where things were. It wasn’t the most luxurious dacha, but it was on the Black Sea, so it was built on the outside to look like a vacation home for lesser party members and their mistresses. The shower wasn’t working, so they bathed on the sea, and carried water in buckets from the pump to rinse out their clothes. They made quick work of the supplies, mostly heavy, salty crackers and canned beef of the lowest quality. Inna had tea before switching to vodka that Stick had found almost instantaneously. He handled his booze much better than he used to. He also bore scars she didn’t remember, though she’d never actually seen much of his skin. She knew usually members of the Japanese criminal element had elaborate and often beautiful tattoos; Stick had none.

She wasn’t stupid enough to ask about the child, or the men who’d wanted to buy him. She didn’t even pry Stick about Raisa at first. He still acted with deep concentration within himself, like he was still on his mission, or consoling himself about its outcome, even if he would never admit it. He returned the favor. She didn’t have favorite students (she told herself that), but she never liked losing one, especially one that had specifically asked for help. Black Widows weren’t supposed to get in too deep, but that was exactly what happened. It was her failure as a trainer that made her responsible for her death.

She made a fire as she planned the safest way back to her superiors and what she was going to tell them. Stick meditated, refusing the small couch or one of the beds in favor of the floor. He was in that state for several hours. She set traps outside and managed to catch some fish, which were much better than the available food.

“Don’t eat that,” Stick told her as she reached for one of the little snappers. It was the first words he’d said to her since their arrival. “It swallowed a pull tab.”

“How do you know?”

He smiled. “I’m very sensitive to these things.”

She cut open the fish and pulled out the rusted tab from some local’s canned food. Stick had no other comments on the food, which they devoured. He made various faces during the meal.

“You don’t like it?”

He frowned. “It’s very salty.”

“You don’t like sea water?”

“And metallic,” he said. “It’s good. Don’t worry about it.”

“As long as there’s no uranium in it.” Her body had seen enough of that.

“No,” Stick said with way too much confidence, and they laughed.

They were both so exhausted, but dinner and drinks invigorated them. Inna usually didn’t indulge quite so much, but she wanted the day to be more a haze, and she was so rarely around anyone where she could afford to be in that state. She had no good reason to feel that way around Stick, but she’d already trusted him with much more than that.

She pulled the cot as close to the firewood stove as it could get and wrapped the only blanket around Stick.

“I’m not cold,” he told her.

“Americans can’t handle the cold.”

“I’m not an American,” he said, though when he spoke English it was with an American accent, and when he spoke Russian, he put on a good show but his American English showed through. Whatever he said he was, his parents were certainly American.

“Is your name really Stick?”

“Yes.”

“Was it always Stick?”

He paused and it seemed like he was looking at the fire, even though he was never looking anywhere. In their light she could almost make out of the color of his eyes behind the clouded retinas. They were either green or blue. “No.” He added, “But it doesn’t matter.”

He kissed like a teenager. No, he kissed like a boy who’d been dared to do it, but also kind of wanted to do it, and Inna knew precisely how experienced he was. Compared to men who thought they were great lovers but weren’t, he was easy to handle, because he didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said.

“Who would I tell?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s stupid.” He reverted back and forth between the adult in him who did what he was told but also took what he wanted, and the arrested teenager who knew what he wanted and was afraid of it. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he said before his brain could stop him.

“I can’t have children again, if that helps.”

“Why would it – “ But then he blushed. “Right.”

She giggled – when was the last time she giggled? – but didn’t make fun of him too hard for that. Everything took longer, which was a nice way to pass the time, because they both had to feel around. She hadn’t been with anyone since Raisa’s father, and she’d never been an active Widow. He wasn’t used to being touched at all, that much was obvious, especially in places that weren’t scar tissue. He had a lot of it because of bad sewing jobs, not done at a hospital or by a medical professional. Maybe even by his own hands. But he wasn’t ugly and his skin wasn’t hard. He had plenty of soft spots.

She found all of them.

Even with the fire going, body heat was a necessary component to staying warm at night. Stick was like his namesake, without a spare pound on him, and she never had the luxury of having fat to burn in the winter, so they were able to fit only somewhat uncomfortably on the cot, which wasn’t meant for this sort of situation anyway.

“You haven’t asked me about your daughter,” Stick said.

“They killed that boy rather than let you save him,” she said. “If you had, would you have taken him to your group, or returned him to his parents?”

“It’s complicated. He’s – he’s not the same as Raiko,” Stick replied. “They don’t want kids who are born deformed. They can’t use them.”

“But you would have taken him away.”

“Yes.”

“And trained him to be like you.”

“Yes.”

This was a lot for him to say already, but he was as exposed as he ever would be. “What was special about Raisa?”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” he replied. “But when she’s old enough, and she finds you, ask her about Black Sky.”

“Do you think she’ll look for me?”

“I’ll tell her to,” he assured her. “Though whether she does or she doesn’t is her own damn business.” As she settled into his chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck, he said, “She’s a lot like you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Tough when she needs to be. Focused on what’s important.” He added, “She likes dancing.”

“If it’s ballet, that’s Mother Russia in her.”

Stick grinned. “I’ve never seen ballet.”

“Oh? You don’t go to the theater?”

“I’m not really the type,” he said. “I like records, though.”

“Smartass.”

“I’m pretty familiar with that word, too.”

He told her more. He said Raiko went away for a summer to learn calligraphy from a master. She was studying for her entrance exams to some Japanese school level that Inna wasn’t familiar with. She would probably go on to college. She was taller than Inna. She kept her hair short. Stick wasn’t her main teacher (“I’m not great at it”) but he was in and out. Stick left out a lot, probably everything important, but Inna soaked up what she could get before they parted ways in the morning. Of all of the seemingly magic things Stick could do, driving wasn’t one of them, so she dropped him off half a mile from the train station, and he said he could find his way from there.

“Are you going to be in trouble?”

Stick shrugged. “I already am.” But he said it without regret, and pressed a small wooden tile into her palm. It had a white flower painted on one side. “If you’re ever in trouble, and you hear the name White Lotus, you can go to them. They’re trustworthy.”

“Really?”

“Well, not _that_ trustworthy,” he admitted. “Nobody is. But they won’t hold your past against you. Not after I’ve vouched for you.”

“How do I find them?”

“That one,” he said, “I’m sure you can figure out.”

**********************

The letters stopped. They had never been particularly regular, so she thought nothing of it. She had her own troubles, with the Black Widow program falling apart. The up-and-coming future party oligarchs didn’t like it. They thought it was too old-fashioned, too much like an American spy novel. There were new ways of surveillance coming down the road that would replace highly-trained girls, some of whom were deemed untrustworthy, especially if they had been in the field too long, and seen too much.

Inna knew too much about the program. Even though she kept her head down and didn’t make effort to climb through the ranks, stifling her ambitions, it didn’t do much good. People with secrets were better off dead. It helped the people in power sleep at night, and there were  new people.

She could assemble identities to escape. That wasn’t beyond her expertise. But she went back for the tile Stick had given her anyway, and carried it around in an inside pocket with cash and the materials for fake passports.

America would take her. They were more than willing to sit down with an ex-spy. But that would make her a traitor, and though Russia had never been kind to her, she had no desire to be one. She fled through Europe and then to the Middle East, or at least as far as Istanbul, where she lived as cheaply as possible and plowed through contacts, deeming most of them untrustworthy. She was almost out of money when she was walking through the old souk and noticed the door had a hand-carved symbol on it. The white paint on it had faded, so you had to be looking for it, but she was looking for it.

At first the landlady tried to shoo her away, insisting that nothing was there, but she was persistent, and camped out across from the entrance. It was two days before anyone else entered. It was a black man in tourist gear who was walking funny, leaning heavily on a cane. She had to push her way in the door before it slammed shut on her, and in that narrow passageway leading to some basement, she showed the tile to the American, who sat down to speak to her. His exposed ankles showed that his legs were prosthetics made of metal.

“Stick said he vouched for me,” she said, not bothering to hide her Russian accent.

The man’s face did a funny, unpleasant turn. “Oh.” He wouldn’t say it, but his eyes showed that he was summing up exactly who she was, and he wasn’t pleased, but he quickly hid that with a smile. “Welcome to the Order of the White Lotus. Let me show you in.”

**********************

The man’s name was Paul Wilson, and he arranged for a safe house. He was hospitable, explaining that the White Lotus was a philosophical society, and the strange thing was, he didn’t seem to be lying. That was just not the whole story. He served her Russian tea and told her to relax for a few days, and then they would figure something out. Inna couldn’t remember the last time someone told her to do that. He taught her a tile-based game called Pai Sho to help pass the time when he wasn’t out, which was a lot of the time.

“Where would you like to go?” he finally asked.

“Japan.”

“For Stick or for other reasons?”

She wanted to say, _Yes, I think my daughter is there_ , but she didn’t really know this man, and she didn’t want to play all her cards yet. “Both.”

Paul sighed. “Let me give you some advice – don’t contact Stick. If you need to talk to him, do it through other people, and try not to have a reason to do it.”

“He’s mad at me?” Not that she cared.

“No. But what he went through when he came back from – “ He didn’t need to say, _when he was with you_ , nor did he want to. “It almost killed him. It was supposed to kill him. So do him a favor, and leave him alone. If he wants to be in contact, he’ll find a way.”

Inna believed him. The earnesty implied that this was someone who knew Stick well, and could make this call. “I want to find my daughter.”

“That is not White Lotus business,” he said. “I can’t help you with that.”

She accepted his answer because she had to. He was already being generous with her; he could not entirely hide that he didn’t like her because of the negative association of what had happened to Stick. Maybe he thought she had seduced Stick. Maybe he thought she was on some sort of mission to infiltrate his group.

No, that couldn’t be the case. She would be dead if that were true.

Paul offered her an identity in Spain, and she took it, and waited.

 

**********************

“Mom.”

Raisa – no, Raiko – was twenty, and she was standing in Inna’s doorway. She was loud – her plastic prosthetic arms made a clacking sound when they hung loose.

Inna blanked. She had agonized over this moment too long to know what to do with it. She only managed to blurt out, “You look like your father.”

Raiko was an emotionally guarded woman like her mother, and likely because of how she had been raised, but she wasn’t unkind. They hugged and sat together for tea, not really sure what to say to each other.

“I let them take you,” Inna said, “because it was the only way you would survive.”

“I know.” And Raiko was completely accepting of this fact. “But I know you asked about me, even when you weren’t supposed to.”

There was so much they couldn’t say. Inna didn’t ask what Raiko did, and Raiko didn’t ask about her father, or about the Black Widow program, which she probably knew something about. They fumbled in their first conversations, the gulf of years and culture keeping them temporarily apart.

They closed the gap pretty quickly. After a few days – Raiko said she wasn’t sure how long she could stay, in her strangely-accented English – Inna said, “When I asked why they wanted you, Stick told me to ask you about a black sky.”

“Wow. He said that?” Raiko asked. “Oh, I guess that was the old Stick. He was different when I was younger.”

She didn’t say why he was different, and that hung over them like a cloud. Stick had been irrevocably changed by that night on the coast of the Black Sea, enough that someone who probably was told nothing about the specifics and might not even know her mother was involved could tell.

And then Raiko told her about Black Sky, and a lot of things made sense.

Inna didn’t bring up Stick again.

**********************

Inna was inducted into the Order of the White Lotus shortly after that. It was good for her. She now had time to contemplate the universe. She could see how narrow and inconsequential her old ways of thinking were, compared to the vastness of time and the unlimited nature of the Spirit World. The Cold War didn’t matter at all, and nation states didn’t matter to the Chaste, or the Order of the White Lotus, which transcended them. She was given waterbending because it was something she could share with her daughter, who abandoned the plastic, earthly prosthetics at the earliest possible moment and relied on her ability to bend water into the limbs she never had. She had become something greater than someone with two arms. But she used it  for a purpose for the Chaste, while Inna had time to perfect the philosophy around it.

From time to time she heard Stick’s name in conversation – usually in terms of someone repeating something he said or relaying a message to another White Lotus member. The Chaste and the White Lotus weren’t the same, but they had a lot of overlapping members. The Chaste was made up of Black Skies, and they could carry more than one element. They stood with one foot in each world, which Raiko explained could be very uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t describe.

Time passed and Inna went from job to job, spending most of her time meditating into the Spirit World. She didn’t entirely turn her back on her old life, and she was pleasantly surprised when Natasha Romanov found her Siberian hideaway. Snow and ice were good – they were allies, especially when you could regulate their temperatures. She liked being a teacher again. Natasha had been her best student, but she had really gone beyond all expectations. It didn’t matter to Inna what side she fought for now. It mattered that she had survived and thrived, and Inna was happy with that.

And then Stick appeared at the front steps to the ice palace she had built for herself in the Arctic and said, “I need you to teach me waterbending.”

**********************

Like her, he had aged. Raiko said Black Skies could live a very long time, but that didn’t mean the years hadn’t changed him. His hair was grey and his skin heavy with a combination of scars and wrinkles. Instead of a walking stick he had a metallic pole that was taller than him, something she’d seen airbenders carry. He wore goggles to protect his eyes against the wind.

Inside, he removed his gear and heated his hands by the fire he created himself. He looked tired, but not in the way he had once looked tired. This was a man who had weathered a lot, and it was something that had burrowed deep into his bones. There was only a certain type of rest that would help him now and he didn’t seem interested in it.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he said. “Not even the White Lotus.”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, Izo and I are in a bit of a – prolonged argument,” he said. Inna knew that Master Izo was not only a Grand Lotus but also the head of the Chaste. Everyone needed to stay on his good side, even other Grand Lotuses like her.

“One you’re not going to fix so easily?”

He smiled, but it was a deception. “I think we both know the only way to fix it.”

Izo was famously a master of all four elements; Stick only had fire and air, and now water. And to come to her, rather than learn it in the Spirit World, he must be desperate.

“You’re asking me to go against another Grand Lotus?” she asked. “ _The_ Grand Lotus?”

“Yeah.” Stick’s breath was white against the cold, despite the fire in his hands. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

She was deep in debt to him. She knew that. But she wanted to see what he would call her on. “Why ask me?”

“Because I already know your answer,” he said, and his old charm, now far more polished, shone through his teeth. “I know you’ll do it.”

Well, she couldn’t say he was wrong.


	2. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar: ATLA and Avatar: LOK fans are going to have an advantage for this chapter. To the rest of you, sorry! And check the series out. It's amazing.

“Foggy, your ex is staring at me.”

Across the office, Foggy sighed. “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

“No, he’s doing the thing he does.” Marci Stahl, of Sharpe, Stahl, and Walters strode confidently across the main room. She had already transitioned to flats, which must have been a big deal for her. Matt could tell that she had switched to her Fall handbag, that she’d had her hair done a week before, and that her stomach was still upset and she was pretending it wasn’t. But he wasn’t focusing on any of that.

“Matt!” She snapped her fingers in front of him as she stepped into his office. “Stop staring.”

“I have never stared at you.”

“You’re doing the thing. The – whatever you do to figure things out. Are you scanning me? Can you X-Ray people?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with your terrible metaphors for things,” she said. “But you’re freaking me out a little, so tell me whatever it is you’re figuring out or I will smack you with a purse that you will not see coming.”

“I’m not sure,” he said, which was a lie. Generally he stayed away from ever saying anything about what he could discern about a woman’s biology with his senses. “Would it a problem if I, um –, “ He held his hand out in her general direction, waist-high.

When Marci rolled her eyes, everyone could hear it. “But I’m not giving you any co-pay.” She unbuttoned her suit jacket, but kept the silk undershirt in place underneath.

Foggy got up from his desk and scrambled over and Karen leaned over her desk to get a better view as Matt put his hand on her stomach. From the state of her skirt’s waistline, she’d recently lost weight, not gained it, which was not abnormal at this stage.

“You should see a real doctor,” he said. “But it’s twins.”

“Yes!” Foggy hopped around the office in front of Karen’s desk. “Yes yes yes yes!” And in response to Marci’s stare, he said, “What? It’s two for one.”

“Congratulations!” Karen said, but she kept her voice sedate around Marci.

Marci was scared. She was hiding it well, so much so that maybe only Foggy knew and only because she might have told him, but at this exact moment she was terrified, and eager not to show it, which was probably why she wasn’t beating her husband into the ground with the aforementioned purse.

“I’m not an ultrasound machine,” Matt told her.

“But you’re not wrong.”

“There’s two heartbeats.” He smiled at her in the most supportive manner he knew. “Healthy. Strong.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Gender? Eye color? Future academic pursuits?”

“I’m sure they’d both make great lawyers,” he said. “I usually don’t say anything because it’s none of my business, and most people don’t know that they can start out with twins or triplets, but one won’t make it, and be absorbed by the other. But I don’t think that will happen. They’re both the same size.”

“Really? But you can’t tell gender?”

“Too early,” he said.

“Okay.” She was regaining some footing now, mentally. “You’re a weirdo and I’m getting an ultrasound tomorrow morning to confirm that you’re not a crazy person who knows way too much about people’s insides.”

He had known about the pregnancy before Foggy, too, but only by a day. He figured that Marci was deciding when and where to tell Foggy on her own, because this was their marriage, not Matt’s, so he said nothing, and tried to act surprised later. Marci didn’t buy it, but she did thank him for keeping his “damn mouth shut.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Mazel Tov.”

“That’s our word!” Foggy said as he put his arm around his wife and pointed at Matt. “You don’t get to say that word.”

“Foggy, you take Jesus’s name in vain all of the time.”

“And you have called me on it like, a billion times.” But he turned his focus away from Matt, and kissed Marci. “I love you. And I am really, really proud of you.”

“This is your fault. You know that, right? You had biology in high school?”

“It’s a little bit of both,” Karen said. “You see, the amount of eggs – “ She caught herself before getting too technical. This wasn’t the time for a lecture on the reproductive system. “It doesn’t matter. It’s gonna be great. I’m happy for you. We all are.” She clapped her hands together. “We should celebrate! Go somewhere nice.”

Normally, Foggy would go home after work, or meet up with Marci for dinner, but it was the rare night where Foggy needed to work late and Marci didn’t. Her firm did much more arbitration and she was not a trial lawyer, but she still had harsh deadlines. It also meant there was less chance of their two firms being on opposing sides of a legal matter, which Foggy had a strict policy against because, as he put it, he wanted to stay married.

Marriage was good to him, and surprisingly good to Marci, though Matt would never admit the surprising part. Between their two jobs (though mostly hers) they  had been able to buy an apartment on the Upper West Side, though their grandkids would probably still be paying down the mortgage. There was a room that could be converted into a nursery but was currently an office, and a rare third bedroom for guests, though the only real guest was Juan, and it was really his room. He wasn’t there most of the time,  only when Matt was wrangled into some Avenger mission that went on for too long, or the occasional weekend, and Matt’s heart _always_ ached, but he learned to deal with it. He was currently dealing with Juan being at an SAT prep summer program in another _state_ , and that was hard, but he’d known it was going to be, and he knew that though his Black Sky would fight him in his unconscious, he had to let go. They didn’t talk directly, but Matt knew himself well enough to know that when his emotions swung far away from rational thought about a person, Black Sky was making its opinion known. His Black Sky didn’t want Foggy to leave, but it also didn’t hate Marci, because if it did, Matt would have hated her, too. He was curious to see how she was as a mom; if she took to the task of motherhood with the same ferocity that she used in everything else, she would be great at it.

The four of them went to a new restaurant that had recently been reviewed in the New Yorker, where the dishes were exquisite but confusing, and they only got a table because they’d once bailed the maître de out of jail for public intoxication and solicitation, and got the penalty down to only thirty hours of community service. The menu at this place had words like “infusion” and “reduction” and “Asian inspired” in front of the names of entrees, but everything was good. Marci couldn’t handle much, and mostly sipped on her Sprite served in a martini glass (olive and all) while Foggy tried to hold back fussing over her eating. They didn’t talk about the pregnancy at all – Marci had a strict policy about mentioning it in public spaces, as the only person at the firm who knew was Rosalind Sharpe, and Marci wanted it to stay that way as long as possible. They talked a little shop, but mostly listened to Karen talk about how her legal aid training was coming. When she graduated, she wanted to work for a non-profit, maybe an NGO, to which Marci said that Nelson and Murdock definitely qualified as a non-profit, and no one called her on it because it was true.

Foggy and Marci left first, because Marci was exhausted from morning sickness that seemed to be all-day sickness (again, not unusual) and hiding it at work. Foggy wanted to tell everyone he could about the news; Marci said she wanted to wait for the ultrasound, and not rely on Matt’s “magic eyes that don’t work.”

Matt and Karen walked back to the office together. He still had some work to do, and she offered to accompany him. She was intuitive enough to sense he was lonely. She didn’t ask if he was currently seeing someone (he couldn’t really refer to his various standing arrangements as relationships) or had something going on in his life that he could talk about. She’d met someone at Narcotics Anonymous named Johnny who she said looked a lot like Captain America. He wanted to teach her how to ski as soon as they turned the snowmakers on.

“I think when Marci accepts it, she’ll be more excited,” Karen said. “But it’s got to be really scary.”

“Marci’s basically fearless,” he said, though the modifier “basically” made it not a lie.

“Says the Man without Fear.”

“I think I would be more afraid of danger if I could _see_ it,” he admitted.

“But you know how they feel when they see _you_.”

“That’s not hard to tell.” They stopped in front of the office building. The bodega beneath them really needed to change out the chicken sitting on the hotplate. “I need to go over the Baxter Building files again. See you – Wednesday?”

“I can come in if you need me.”

“No. You should study,” he chided her. She had a big test Wednesday morning. “We can hold it together. And if the building collapses on us, I’m sure it’ll make the news.”

When Karen left he did as promised, and went up for a few more hours of reading about permits and zoning on his adaptive braille Starkpad before he was ready to turn in. The city was relatively quiet; he always had one ear tuned in to that. It was mostly people buying and selling very small amounts of drugs, and the investment firm two buildings over was being investigated by the FBI for fraud. Not a night for suiting up, but also because it was very humid, and he hated when sweat filled up in the suit.

Matt was chiding himself for being lazy when he stopped on the front steps of his apartment building and took a deep breath. There were people in his apartment – about five. He couldn’t be sure because they were all Black Skies, so that meant they were the Chaste, and they knew how to deaden the sound of their heartbeats.

He debated calling Foggy, or Karen, but it was better not to involve them. Juan was away, so he was safe. As far as he could tell they hadn’t wrecked his apartment, or moved at all since he came into range. If he knew they were here, they must have known the same, but they weren’t gearing up to jump him. He could call Natasha, and try to get some Avengers involved, but he didn’t really have cause.

The only reason he hesitated at all was because none of them  was Stick.

He folded up his cane and walked up the stairs. There was still movement on their end, even when he was basically at his door, though he was pretty sure that this was going to be more than a quiet chat. He came in to a similar silence. He recognized Stone, but no one else. They’d made themselves at home, raiding his fridge for liquor and tea. There was a man seated cross-legged in the middle of the couch, and the others gathered behind him. It didn’t take Matt very long to figure out that this was Master Izo, in the flesh for the first time. Matt didn’t recognize the usual sounds and smells that he used for picking out people but he recognized the posture. Izo’s head was slumped slightly down while the rest of his body was straight.

Matt took the seat across from him. He didn’t want to bother with greetings. “Are you looking for Stick? Because he’s not here.”

“I know that,” Izo said. His voice was familiar, but not quite the same. In the material world it was scratchier and his neck waddled a little bit when he spoke.

“I haven’t seen him in years. We’re not in contact.”

“I know that, too,” Izo said. “I need you to help me find him.”

“You’ve traveled the world, finding kids and blinding them with chemicals,” Matt said. “You can sense Black Skies from the Spirit World. And I almost never leave Manhattan. I’m not going to be much help to you.”

Izo’s head bowed even lower and he sniffed. “You don’t want to help. Your loyalty is with Stick. Like him, you have no respect for authority.”

“And I’m not sure you know what a private residence is,” Matt replied. “Weren’t you in prison?”

“It was convenient for a time,” Izo explained. “That time has passed. Harmonic Convergence is coming. I suppose my old student didn’t tell you about that.”

“He never tells me anything. I can’t imagine where he picked up that habit.”

Izo’s laugh brought up phlegm, so it was more like a cough. He wasn’t sick, but his body _was_ five hundred years old. Matt supposed he shouldn’t know what to expect from it. “He didn’t tell you what a Black Sky was.”

“Of course not. I had to learn that from the Hand.”

“And he didn’t tell you why we’re _called_ Black Skies.”

“Does it really matter?” Matt said, but he knew he was caught. The topic sparked a sudden interest in him despite himself, and Izo could definitely tell that.

“Did you know we almost destroyed the world?” Izo was smiling. Matt could hear his smile, with a face so hardened and wrinkled. “That we’re going to do it again? No. As you said, of course not.”

“I’m going to reiterate that I don’t know where Stick is, and I have no way of finding him,” Matt insisted. “But if you don’t want to accept that, by all means, offer me some information.” He couldn’t make Izo leave. He suspected Izo didn’t need his four bodyguards. They were there for show.

“Hmm.” Izo was amused with himself, and whatever story he was spinning. “As you know, the Spirit World and the Material World are closed off here. People cannot move freely between them and spirits cannot come here. The Black Skies are already here and can’t get home. That is the source of their distress. But it was not always this way.”

Matt sat back in his sofa chair for ancient mystic story time.

“The balance between the Spirit World and each dimension connected to it is maintained by two warring spirits: Raava, the spirit of peace and light, and Vaatu, the spirit of darkness and chaos. They each contain a piece of the other, and though they fight and destroy each other, they will always be remade. At Harmonic Convergence, they determine the fate of this dimension. If Raava wins, existence continues as normal. If Vaatu wins, the whole dimension is corrupted and collapses, but then Raava is remade, and she begins the world anew.

“Ten thousand years ago, this fight went on for the fate of this dimension, on this planet, and Raava was winning, so Vaatu brought spirits from the Spirit World to fight for him. He had the power to corrupt them, and he took their demented forms and formed a giant tapestry which he spread across the sky so that it blocked the sun and terrified all creatures, and he fed on their fear. Raava defeated him anyway, banishing him for another cycle, but she could not purify the spirits. They fell apart and drifted to earth after the gate closed on them. They’ve been here ever since.”

“Black Skies aren’t demons,” Matt said. “You told me that.”

“They’re not inherently evil. Their minds have been twisted, and I know of no way to repair them. But Stick thinks he can. He thinks the spirits can be reunited with each other and cross back into the Spirit World.”

“And that would be bad?” Though the thought of losing his Black Sky made his stomach turn. “We would die, right?”

“All of us,” Izo said. “And Vaatu would grow more powerful. Stick thinks otherwise. He has gone off the path. He has done so before, but never to this extreme.”

While the story was ridiculous, it only had to be halfway true to be dangerous, and Matt had no idea if Izo  were lying. “If Stick is so good at hiding from you, what makes you think that I can find him?”

“If you asked,” Izo said, without specifying how, “he would come for you.”

“Bullshit!” Matt struck the coffee table. He knew it was bad to lose his temper here, but he was prone to mood swings when Black Sky was discussed. “Stick abandoned me when I was a child. The next time he showed up in my life, it was to trick me into almost killing a kid. He didn’t come to save me when those Hand members tortured me and turned me into a monster. He sent other people to die in his place. When I told him not to kill anyone before because? of what they did to me, he fought me over it, then killed them. When I tried to stop him from drinking himself to death, he almost killed me. Stick has never, _ever_ been there for me, and I don’t expect that to change.”

But he felt sick when saying it and Izo just nodded. “What you say is true, but you don’t believe it anyway. You are impulsive, and you make decisions based on emotions.”

“Then you know that even if I could, I would never help you.”

All things considered, Matt thought he did pretty well in what came next. Izo blasted fire at him, but Matt was able to backflip over the sofa and land on his feet. He spun around to bend the air around him to push away the other Chaste members that were closing in on him. If he made it to the stairs –

He didn’t make it to the stairs. The faucet was going and one of the Chaste bended the water right into him, freezing him to the wall so only his head was exposed and the rest of his body was stuck behind a block of ice. Only then did Izo calmly stand up and walk over to Matt. When he bended the ice from the wall, Stone and some other bulky member of the Chaste were there to bring him to his knees and hold him in place.

“Stick will know that I did this,” Izo said. “And he will know why.”

“He’s not going to walk into a trap,” Matt said, trying to brace himself as Izo tore his shirt. “He didn’t save me when the Hand tortured me, and that went on for a year.”

“This,” Izo said confidently, “will be different.” As he put one hand on Matt’s chest and the other on his head, holding it in place as he pressed his thumb into the forehead, Matt felt fear, and not his own. The other Chaste members flinched and their heart rates shot up. Even the two holding him were turning their heads as far away as possible.

They all knew what was going to happen and they were afraid to watch.

“This will hurt,” Izo said, and then he tore Matt apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reasons I can't go into on the internet, today was a horrible day for me. I decided to rush this post because posting fanfic makes me happy. If you want to leave me a note, I would really appreciate it.


	3. Beneath Still Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple pieces of trivia:
> 
> \- The third story in this series, "After All These Years," is named after the first episode of season 3 of Legend of Korra.  
> \- This story is named after the musical track from the Korra soundtrack that occurs in season 1, when Korra meets Aang and achieves the Avatar state.

When Matt was young, he would eagerly await the final bell that signaled freedom from school like everyone else, and from there he would run straight to Fogwell’s. It was an ugly, smelly place and it had been as long as he could remember, but he was allowed to watch his dad train, which was as close as his dad said he would get to being allowed to see him fight. Mrs. Fogwell was never around, but she would leave juice packets and crackers in the office for him.

“Do your homework first,” his dad said as he kissed him on the head. He’d been there for a while already and he was drenched in sweat but Matt didn’t care, but he did groan and sit down at the rickety folding table to do his math homework, which was practicing multiplication and subtraction. He thought division was much harder.

“Hey, if I could learn this stuff, then _you_ definitely can,” his dad said. They didn’t talk about it, but once his dad had said Matty got his brains from his mother’s side, because Murdocks tended to be dumb as rocks (as he put it) and Matty was smart. It was a point of pride but also a mystery that maybe someday he would solve.

He wasn’t concerned about that now – he wore down his pencil to a nub trying to finish as quickly as possible. He was on the next-to-last problem when he heard the scream. It was surprising for a man, especially one in a gym, and it was terrifying.

One of the weightlifters – his name was James or Jim or Jimbo or something, Matt didn’t know, he just knew his dad thought weightlifters were showoffs – was on the floor, screaming. His arm was spurting blood. Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran to him. Mr. Fogwell was a trained medic, but not on this level, and went to call an ambulance.

Matt was good at sneaking through a crowd of grown men and made his way to the front, and regretted it. Jim was on the floor and his arm was almost torn from his body. He had been lifting a weight off the rusty rack and it had finally given way, crushing his arm and tearing the skin as well. It was still connected, but Matt could see the stringy flesh of torn muscles and veins, and they looked nothing like the anatomy poster on the wall of the science room at school. They were pulsing and ugly and red and reminded him just a little bit of a chicken wing, and he was sure he was never going to eat a chicken wing again, and he was glad he hadn’t eaten a bunch of crackers because he felt like he was going to throw up. One of the other boxers did vomit, which Matt overhead as his dad pulled him away and covered his eyes.

“Matty,” his dad said. “Don’t look.” He turned him around, so Matt was facing away from the scene behind him. “I don’t want you to see this, okay? So we’re going to go to the office until the ambulance gets here and we’re sure Jim is going to be okay, and then we’re going home.”

But Matt had seen, and the inside was so different from what he expected. Even the horror movies that he sometimes watched when he was left alone on a fight night were less gory somehow, even if there  were more injuries in blood. Jim was living and breathing and screaming so hard and his sinewy flesh quivered and it gave Matt nightmares for days. He even vowed to stop eating meat, a promise that lasted until dinnertime, and from time to time, for years after that, Matt would still feel sick when he heard the sound of someone tearing apart a wing before chomping down.

Jim lived, but Matt never learned anything else about it because he stopped coming to the gym. And now, decades later, the adult Matthew Murdock couldn’t help but think of that faded image and wondered if Jim had wanted to die, too.

This time there was no flesh, no blood, nothing that was tangible, as he was pulled away from his Black Sky. Or his Black Sky was pulled away from him; he wasn’t sure. It was the kind of pain you didn’t feel at first because your mind couldn’t process it yet, and then it couldn’t process the idea of it continuing, of this moment going forward. Time had to stop to correct this and it just had to happen, because he could not do this, he could not lose his Black Sky. They were still connected, like limbs, but they were torn and as they were pulled further and further apart, the remaining connection between them thinned and thinned and thinned and Matt would _die_ if it broke, he was sure of it.

Black Sky called to him. Black Sky didn’t use Matt’s name, because spirits never really understood the concept of names, and Matt had never named his Black Sky, but he was calling to him in a way that said who Matt was without saying the word “Matt,” and Matt instinctually responded in the same way.

He was floating in space, unable to determine direction, pain blocking out all of his senses so that he wasn’t sure if he  were in the real world anymore, and none of it mattered because there was _so much pain_ and he _had to get back to his Black Sky_ , he just had to, he couldn’t lose it. They couldn’t break. They were not meant to be apart even a little bit, and he had never appreciated that until now, when the pulling apart went on and on and they both screamed louder but their voices got dimmer, and Matt thought, _If he goes far enough I will want to die, I already want to die_ , but then he countered himself with, _No, I can’t die, I can’t do that to him. He’s me and I’m him, and he would never do that to me. I’m the adult; I can grow. I have to be the responsible one_.

He utterly failed to muster any strength to so much as stop the pulling, and he was panicking as the line got so impossibly thin, like a fishing line, or a piano wire, or gum that was being pulled apart and just went further and further but never seemed to break. He couldn’t feel himself breathing or his heart pounding because any awareness of that was blocked, and he thought his body might already be dead, and he was going to be stuck in this purgatory forever.

Whatever focus he had slipped away as he was pounded down by raw agony. He didn’t hear his Black Sky anymore. He barely felt it. They were both fading lights to each other. Sooner or later, they would have to go out and then it would all be darkness. Maybe there would be no pain. Maybe they would be whole again.

And with the same suddenness and intensity, they snapped back, colliding with each other before parting again. They both reached out but though they were back to being close, they could never quite ... connect. Like two puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together, that couldn’t be smashed in to make it work. Matt became dimly aware of his body again, but he didn’t quite feel in it. He felt bounced around in his own skin, perpetually in motion, never finding the right resting place, and Black Sky was doing the same, and they were _right there_ but they _couldn’t reach each other_. Everything was just a little too far. Maybe he’d been put back in the wrong body? He didn’t know; he couldn’t use his senses. Everything was behind a wall of pain, as he and his Black Sky struggled in the dark to find each other, and become whole again.

They would keep trying, even if it took forever.

**********************

Foggy Nelson was a bit prone to panicking, but he wasn’t used to _Marci_ panicking, because he’d never seen it before. He’d seen her overwhelmed, depressed, and hopeless, but she always knew what she was up against, even if she didn’t know how to go forward.

She wasn’t panicking visibly; you had to be a real expert in Marci to know it, and Foggy was. He didn’t want to go through a night of this, especially because her obstetrician didn’t have anything before 10 am, but more importantly, he didn’t want her to go through a night of this, so he called Claire.

“I know it’s not um, a good use of your time, but – “

Claire was patient but definitely rolling her eyes on the other end. “Just come.”

Her clinic in Harlem was discreet and tonight, not very bloody. Foggy had only been there when he was called to pick up Matt, so bringing Marci there felt a little unreal, but so did being a father of twins. And Claire _did_ have an ultrasound machine, because apparently she needed one. “It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever done with it,” she said as Marci sat on the table, “but I think this deserves its own special category.” She said it was far more of a relaxed charm than she usually had when dealing with patients.

“This is Matt’s fault,” Marci said, and Foggy didn’t deny it. “It’s so creepy.”

“He can’t turn it off,” Claire said. “Trust me, it can get a lot more gruesome than finding heartbeats.” She put the gel on Marci’s stomach. “But maybe sometimes Matt is not entirely aware of the impact the things he says will have. He can live in his own little world.” She adjusted the monitor with one hand and put the wand on skin with the other.

Marci didn’t say anything as Claire methodically went about her work, but she squeezed Foggy’s hand to the point where he thought he might lose a finger.

“Okay,” Claire said, her voice now filled with confidence. “Congratulations! It’s twins. Perfectly ordinary, healthy-looking twins.” She tilted the monitor for them to see it, and Foggy was embarrassed that he mostly saw blobs. “It’s harder to make out the shape because there are two of them and they’re facing each other, and because it’s so early in your term. Usually this wouldn’t get caught so quickly. If you didn’t see your doctor much, it might not get caught at all.”

“You can’t tell – “ but Marci trailed off.

“No, no genders yet.” Claire removed the wand. “Look, it’s true that there’s a lot of complications that can come with twins. Do yourself a favor and _don’t_ google it tonight. You’ll just scare yourselves. If there’s something to watch, your obstetrician will find it and let you know.” Claire have her most heartwarming smile. “Everything is under control.” She looked directly at Foggy. “But you should buy her some flowers.”

“I don’t _not_ want twins,” Marci said. “It’s just – unexpected. I’ll be showing earlier, right?”

“It depends. Just try to keep eating, even if it comes back up. You don’t have to stuff yourself, but you need to stay hydrated and keep up your electrolytes.”

“Okay.” Marci didn’t sound perfectly okay, but she did sound better, and that was all that mattered. She turned to Foggy. “You’re bringing me to work even if it’s in a wheelbarrow.”

“That’s going to look a little suspicious,” Foggy said, and kissed her on the cheek. “And where am I going to get a wheelbarrow in Manhattan?”

Claire offered her best wishes and they took the train back down to their apartment. Marci called her mom, but no one else. Foggy honestly expected her to be madder at him, because it was sort of his fault, however unintentionally, but that fire had burned out quickly. Marci was tired from a long day of vomiting, work, and hiding that she was vomiting at work. And then the stress with Matt.

“I’m proud of you,” he said as he brought her the evening prenatal vitamins. She was in bed before him. “I’m really happy about the baby. _Babies_.” They had also stocked up on the expensive ginger ale, the kind that came in a glass bottle and had real ginger. “Babies. It’s so awesome.”

“Easy for _you_ to say.”

“I think on Thor’s planet or dimension or whatever men can have babies.”

“Really?”

“But I think they have to turn into a female horse first. And I think you would have to turn into a male horse. And then we would turn back but the baby would still be a horse. Well, pony.”

“Okay, you did manage to make our situation sound better and I applaud you for that,” she said as she put a hand on his shoulder, “but no more talk of horse sex.”

“You don’t like ponies?”

“I liked them in theory,” she explained. “I had to. That’s what girls liked. Ponies. I had binders with ponies on them. Then I went to a pony farm to get a badge in Girl Scouts, and I found out they smell and constantly need someone to clean their shit off their feet. That was the end of that.”

“But you got the badge?”

“Damn straight I got the badge. I spent a whole afternoon there! What else do you need for a badge? You need the troop leader to go to the headquarters and buy them. And it was my mom.”

“I can’t imagine your mom camping.”

“Not all Girl Scouts go camping. Or not like, in tents. We went to Frost Valley. The cabins were heated and had running water and there was a giant cafeteria down the road.”

“I think if we went camping, I could make us a shelter. From, you know, rocks.” He held his hands up in a vague gesture. “No putting up tents. People would come by our campsite and try to figure out how there was a stone cave there.”

“Hmm. Can you bend me some running water? And a cappuccino maker?”

Foggy was familiar with people hating nature. He knew Matt did, probably for reasons related to his senses. Also: bugs. “There are limits to my amazing abilities.”

“Thank G-d,” Marci said, with her first smile of the evening. “Now be a good husband and please fetch my puke bucket.”

Her calling it that made Foggy want to puke, but he got it anyway. Before bed he Skyped with Juan, who was only allowed to talk to his parents three times a week, or so the camp insisted, because it would just extend homesickness. They were supposed to be out in the woods, learning how to make fires from sticks or something, and also studying for their SATs. Some kids were also there to learn another language; Juan was learning French. And how to swim. New York hadn’t exactly provided him with opportunities to pick up that skill previously.

He was excited to hear the news, but hesitant, as he always was when he had to navigate the complex relationship of his two adoptive dads and his step-mom. “That’s cool. But won’t the pregnancy be harder or something?”

“There could be complications,” Foggy said, “but we have a good doctor. We’re going to see him tomorrow morning.”

“Are they benders?”

Foggy blinked. “What?”

“The babies. Are they benders?” Juan asked like it was nothing, like he was asking what color their hair might be.

“H-How would we be able to tell?”

Juan looked around the computer room as he was silent for a few seconds, the expression being one of concentration. Foggy had a hunch about what Juan was doing before he confirmed it. “Pio says he could tell, but we would have to be in the same room with Marci.”

“Do you think Matt can tell?”

Another break in the conversation while Juan waited for an answer. “Probably, but he’s not sure.” He rested his chin on his fists on the table. “They would be earthbenders.”

“Oh,” was all Foggy could muster. “Well, that’s interesting to know.”

“You should ask Dad,” Juan suggested. “Maybe he didn’t want to say anything.”

_That would be like Matt_ , Foggy thought with some irritation. “Did you learn anything exciting today? Something about surviving in the woods?”

“Yeah, not to run down my cell phone battery before going on a hike.”

Foggy couldn’t entirely tell if he was joking.

**********************

Dr. Goldstein was efficient and realistic, which was why Marci had picked her. “They look like dizygotic twins,” she said. “It’s the most common type of twins. They both appear to be normal-sized in this gestation stage, which is a very good sign. They are some standard complications to look out for, but otherwise, I wouldn’t be concerned about their health. Or yours.” She looked directly at Marci. “I will need you to come in a bit more often starting in the second term, so we can watch their development. Also, since this was caught very early, I should say that there is a very small chance of a vanishing twin.”

“What’s a vanishing twin?” Foggy asked.

“About one in eight pregnancies start out as twins, but one fetus fails to develop and is absorbed into the other. Since it usually has already happened by the time a typical ultrasound is performed, most people never know about it. I don’t think it’s likely here because they’re both good sizes, but you might want to mentally prepare yourself for one of them not making it to full term. The longer they both have a chance to develop, the more likely they are to both survive.”

“Will it be more noticeable?” Marci was determined to keep it a secret at work as long as possible, even though Rosalind knew and Marci’s job was safe.

“Every woman’s body is different, but if you start to gain a bit more weight than you projected, there’s no reason to be surprised.” Dr. Goldstein smiled at both of them. “Everything looks good here. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Marci said. She was more settled over the news, especially now that two medical specialists had confirmed Matt’s creepy knowledge of her body.

Foggy rode with her in the cab to her office, then went to his office. There were no walk-ins today, which was good, because they really needed to focus on their current caseload.

“Matt?” Since Karen wasn’t coming in today, Foggy had to turn all the lights on himself, but that didn’t mean Matt wasn’t there. It was something Matt could easily forget to do. “Are you here?” _Or are you dead in a gutter somewhere?_ Was a fear he always had to swallow. He unlocked the door to Matt’s office and found things neatly closed up for the night, meaning Matt had gone back to the office at some point, but not come in this morning. “I’m going to rename this office Nelson and Also Nelson Because Murdock is Never Here,” he announced to the empty room, and took some case files off Matt’s desk. He took the notepad, too, because he was just about the only one who could read Matt’s chicken scratches, which looked like cursive that went to sleep. “You’d better have stopped like a billion gangs last night.”

He called Matt’s phone, and wasn’t entirely surprised by the lack of an answer. He didn’t bother leaving a message before sitting down to get some work done himself. He’d usually  leave Matt until about noon, or whenever he was hungry for lunch, whichever came first. He picked up a sandwich for himself and another for a laid-up Matt who really did not deserve it if he wasn’t going to so much as call, and headed to Matt’s apartment.

Matt’s building was still a walk-up. There was talk from management about installing an elevator but it would cause the rent to skyrocket, so it was probably better that it never came to be.  Foggy didn’t work himself up – Matt was capable of oversleeping like a regular person, and if Foggy got himself worked up every time Matt was late, he’d have a heart condition by now.

The door was properly locked, so that was a good sign. “Matt!” Foggy had made Matt install a big, heavy brash knocker that would definitely be heard by the occupants. “I don’t need to hear the excuses. I just need you to get to work!” There was more silence, but Matt _was_ a ninja, so he could definitely get around his own apartment without making noise. “If you’re going to bleed out on the carpet, at least make some noise!”

He was getting nervous as he went about unlocking the door’s multiple locks, but nothing extraordinary greeted him. The apartment looked normal, and Matt’s costume (Foggy didn’t care what Matt called it; it was definitely a costume) wasn’t hastily draped anywhere, so that was good. But Foggy’s heart was pounding in his chest as he noticed the _two_ tea cups full of cooled green tea on the coffee table. “G-d damn. Matt!” He ran into Matt’s room, but the bed was untouched. “Matt?”

He finally found his partner on the floor behind the sofa. “Matt! Shit!” Matt was still in his work clothes and appeared unharmed, but his eyes were shut and Foggy assumed that this was not just a new place Matt had found to sleep. He knelt beside him and lifted his head into his lap. “Matt! Wake up, you motherfucker, wake up!”

Matt had never truly been asleep, but he stirred with a big gasp that shook his body and opened his eyes. They were rolled back into his head as he continued to  shudder, but made no move to acknowledge Foggy’s presence.

“Okay. Hold on. Just hold on.” Foggy set Matt’s head back down and ran to the kitchen for the industrial-sized first aid kid under the sink. He grabbed the stethoscope first. He felt Matt’s pulse (fast) and listened to Matt’s heart (racing), but he couldn’t find any blood or obvious injuries. “I’m calling Claire.” He could call an ambulance, since Matt was dressed like a normal person, but his scars would go on record and Matt _hated_ hospitals. He got Claire’s voicemail. “It’s me. I’m not calling about Marci. Call me back as soon as you can.”

He went down the mental checklist. Matt wasn’t soaking wet, his skin wasn’t cold or hot, and he wasn’t bleeding. Foggy unbuttoned Matt’s shirt and took off his shoes and socks to be as sure as he could without stripping him naked. Foggy had a couple of first aid courses under his belt (one was actually an underground training course for would-be mob docs who needed to know some  unconventional things for patients who didn’t want to go to a hospital) but he was no EMT. He grabbed the emergency fleece blanket and wrapped it around Matt in case he was in shock. “Matt, talk to me. Say something.”

Matt’s mouth opened but he made no sound. It sure looked like he was _trying_ to scream. It didn’t look like a seizure but Foggy really didn’t know – Matt hadn’t had a seizure before.

“Matt, it’s okay,” Foggy said, taking one of Matt’s flailing hands that were grasping at air. “It’s okay.” But it definitively was not. “Matt, it’s me.  It’s Foggy.” He thought maybe Matt was deafened, permanently or temporarily, because his responses were way off and he only really responded to touch. “I’m right here.”

With his free hand Matt was still reaching for something, and Foggy took it and brought it safely down to Matt’s chest. “Claire’s coming. Try to – “

But the skin under his palm started to _fucking glow_ and then -

He was watching Jack Murdock pace up and down the rundown kitchen. Foggy knew what Jack looked like, or at least thought he did, because in college Matt had kept a picture of his father up on his wall. It wasn’t a braille picture or anything, just a photo behind a glass frame.

“Why do you have – “

“It’s my dad.” Matt had cocked his head to the side with his charming smile. “Or I think it is.”

And that had been the end of it. Foggy didn’t see the photo again until he opened Matt’s trunk full of his dad’s boxing memorabilia to uncover the original Daredevil suit beneath it, and he didn’t think twice about it. But now he was looking at Jonathan Murdock, father of his best friend, looking very alive and talking to some woman, and everything was washed out and faded and some of the colors were wrong (Jack did not have blue hair). The two adults were fighting, but the words were just incomprehensible shouting in the distance, and Foggy thought, _That must be Matt’s mom_. Which was odd, because Matt insisted that she’d left when he was too young  to remember what she looked like.

And he was in church and it was the four of them in the wooden pews. Jack was next to him, looking very tall and uncomfortable in a too-tight suit, and Foggy/Matt’s feet barely touched the ground. No, there were four people there, one father, two sons, and one intruder. Because Jack had two kids in one body, even if he didn’t know about one of them, because Black Sky was definitely there right along with them.

Foggy’s mind couldn’t quite grasp where Black Sky was, or what it was, or if it looked like anything. It was a bundle of emotions, distinct but not entirely separate from Matt. Their emotions ran parallel, two lines very close to each other, but they were not one mind.

Then it went dark, and his head hurt very badly as it was struck, and he recognized the voice of Stick. “Get up!” When he shouted the sound lit up the empty room, without bringing in any light. The waves of all the different sounds spread out and helped him form a sense of the room, some dingy basement, and he got a lot from smell, but he still saw nothing and he knew this was how Matt saw the world, and it could be too quiet and then too overwhelming from one second to the next, and Foggy didn’t know how Matt could stand it.

He put his arms around the other figure, his body warm, and the unreal outlines of the person formed by noise were hazier, and they smelled of liquor, and Foggy recognized the rank smell of his college hoodie, and if he focused he could “see” the outline of his long hair and flabby torso. _This is how Matt sees_ me _. Holy shit, this is what I look like_? _This is all he can see?_ Over a decade of blind jokes and brush-offs and arguments about what Matt could and couldn’t do seemed sad and pathetic now, because Matt _really couldn’t see_ and he probably couldn’t even tell how much he was missing out on.

_Don’t be mad_. It wasn’t Foggy’s voice, and it certainly wasn’t Matt’s. _We see you. We love you_.

Black Sky wasn’t using the royal ‘We.’ He (it, whatever) was talking about himself and Matt. They agreed on this point, so much more intensely than Foggy expected. The love didn’t come with categories like platonic or fraternal or sexual. It was just love, raw and hurting from how intense it was, and Foggy thought, _I don’t think I could ever leave this_.

Even though there were no names said – Matt said spirits had trouble with the concepts of names – Foggy could understand perfectly well the flashes of emotion for the people that Black Sky loved: Matt’s father, Juan, Stick. It wasn’t a terribly long list but Black Sky didn’t care, and Foggy knew all of this without saying it.

Foggy could have  stayed there, wrapped in the warmth of Black Sky’s love, if he  weren’t so terribly aware of how wrong everything was inside Matt. He was shaken up, him and Black Sky, and it hadn’t happened by accident and it hurt and just kept on hurting. There was a rift between them that was gushing blood, and even though Foggy was in the room with Matt and touching Matt’s chest he couldn’t get through to him at all. He didn’t even know if Matt was aware of his presence, but Black Sky managed to latch on to Foggy and held on in desperation, as if Foggy  were the only one keeping him from falling apart entirely.

The knocking on the door finally registered, and Foggy opened his eyes and was instantly embarrassed by the intensity of the connection, and pulled his hand away from Matt’s chest, and the purple light faded. Matt didn’t seem to be any better but Foggy’s legs were both asleep; he must have been like that for a while.

“Give me a minute!” Foggy pulled himself up using the wall and the sofa arm, his knees wobbly, and kept grabbing the walls like Matt did when he needed to lay the blind thing on thick so he could stay upright. The locks were too hard to manage and took him twice as long as usual, but he got the door open and Claire stepped inside. “Matt, he –, “ He couldn’t describe it. “He’s over there.”

Claire ran to Matt and said, “Have you moved him?”

“I picked his head up, but other than that, no.” He felt like he was watching Claire through a filter; she didn’t matter as much to him right now. He answered her questions but his mind drifted in and out to Matt, whom they hauled to the couch.

“He needs a hospital,” Claire said, and she never said that. “He needs someone who can do an MRI. It’s something neurological.”

“It’s not.” The words just spilled out of Foggy, and he stopped himself before he explained everything to Claire, which would have taken hours, and even though she would have believed him, it was Matt’s secret and Foggy had no idea if she knew about Black Sky. “Is the Tower good enough?”

Claire threw her hands up. “It’ll have to be. And we have to get him there quickly. You usually get minutes with things like strokes. How long has he been like this?”

Foggy bit his lip and thought about the unmade bed. “I think since last night.” He already had his phone open. “I’ll call Jessica.”

“She’s not exactly the most gentle of people.”

“Yeah, but she lives in Hell’s Kitchen, and she’s fast,” Foggy pointed out, and held Matt’s hand as Claire put a tongue depressor in his mouth to keep him from swallowing his tongue. Matt was no longer spasming, but his hands were still shaky and prone to sudden movements, like he was being jolted by something.

Jessica was not someone Foggy often called, so she took him seriously, and arrived quickly. Foggy felt an intense flair of jealousy as Jessica picked Matt up. If he  werea fighting man, he might have swung for her, but he wasn’t, which kept Foggy alive. She could move faster than him and jump faster than him and fly her way to the Avengers Tower, which was what he wanted, but he really, really did not want to be separated from Matt, and his tightened fists were sweating by the time he and Claire made it there, only five avenues away. They both had all of the important clearance not for the main wing, but the more circumspect one in the basement, because not everyone’s identities were public.

Dr. Cho was there and she put Matt in an MRI machine. Her hands were steady and reassuring but Foggy was not feeling patient. Aside from an occasional twitch from one of his hands or a jerking of his head, Matt was non-responsive to stimuli.

“He’s breathing on his own and he doesn’t have any visible wounds,” she said. “And his MRI doesn’t indicate a brain aneurism. There’s no signs of trauma or internal bleeding or oxygen deprivation. His mind is still more active than an average comatose person, but I can’t make any predictions for you. We should keep him on an IV and watch for swelling. We could be missing something, but it’s not going to stay hidden forever.”

“Matt’s had ... a lot of head trauma,” Claire pointed out. “Over the years.”

“But nothing recently?”

“Not that he’s reported.” Claire looked at Foggy.

He shrugged. “He seemed fine yesterday. But this probably happened before he went to sleep, so it’s been …” He checked his watch. “Shit. Over 20 hours.”

“He was on his back, on the floor,” Claire said. “But there’s no sign that his head hit the floor, right? There would at least be bruising. That means – “

“Someone laid him down,” Jessica added. “Someone else was there when it happened.”

“There were two tea cups,” Foggy said. “Juan’s at camp and Matt wasn’t having guests.” He didn’t want to add _, Not for tea, anyway._ Also he didn’t make a huge effort to keep tabs on Matt’s current meandering sex life.

“I’ll scope him, try to find out what’s in his stomach, but it’s probably gone by now.”

Foggy had to be dragged away as Dr. Cho and Claire prepped Matt. Jessica had to press him pretty hard, by his standards anyway. She even shoved him into a chair. “Does Matt have any enemies that mess with his head? Like someone Steven Strange might know?”

“No, it’s not – “ Again he stopped himself. “Natasha.”

“He’s fighting with Natasha?”

“No. But I think – “ He knew that she knew about Black Sky. “She might be able to help.” He reached for his phone to find what he hoped was a working number for Natasha, only to see a lot of unanswered texts from Marci. “Marci. Shit. I totally forgot about Marci.” And he couldn’t really focus on her, even now. Everyone except Matt was sort of distant from him. “I have to call my wife. Can you track down Natasha?”

Jessica gave an exaggerated shrug but did as she was asked. Foggy looked at the messages. It wasn’t unusual for her to text him during the day, so nothing was alarming, but he had been ignoring them for a while. Wife. Right. Pregnant wife. Pregnant with twins wife. Person who should be the center of his world, but he couldn’t focus on her.  It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her, or love her, but thinking about her was like trying to listen to someone with an air horn going off in his ear. Matt. He needed to get back to Matt.

_Matt had some kind of seizure or something. Took him to AT. There now_ , he typed.

It took a few minutes, so she must have been in a meeting, but the text-obsessed lawyer in her called him back instead. “What stupid thing did he do?”

“He wasn’t, you know, _out_. It happened in his apartment.” He felt his heart clench as if he could feel Matt’s internal agony all over again. “He’s in a coma. They don’t know what’s wrong.”

“He’s taken a lot of knocks to the head over the years,” Marci told him, but she had softened her voice considerably, probably because of the way he sounded. “But they have like super technology, right? They can just give him a new head but it’ll be maroon and have a gem in it?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to come down there?”

He looked at his watch. She would be cutting out early and she never offered to do that. “No, it’s okay. Just call me when you get out.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He knew he had to call Karen as he hung up, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to get anyone else involved. He didn’t want anyone between him and Matt. He couldn’t fathom it.

The endoscopy didn’t take long, and they put Matt in a bed with some kind of headset that monitored his brain activity and that he would probably hate, but there was nothing in his stomach but remains of last night’s dinner and some natural acids.

“Matt.” Foggy briefly put his hand against Matt’s chest, but nothing happened. Matt seemed cold. The room seemed cold. “Can he hear me?”

“They say all kinds of things about coma patients,” Dr. Cho said, but pointed to the overly complicated machine next to him, with three different monitors he couldn’t make heads or tails of. “His brain isn’t currently registering noise, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear. Our technology is only so sophisticated. There are limits. Do you want me to call Dr. Strange? He might have some unusual suggestions.”

“No. I mean, not yet. I don’t think Matt would like that.” In fact, he was sure of it. “But let’s keep it on the table.”

**********************

Claire stayed a bit longer but had to go to some other emergency, and Jessica didn’t linger. Karen came right over when Foggy called her, and spoke to Matt as if he could hear her personally. She tied a balloon to his bedframe. On her way in she had checked the office again, just for good measure, but nothing looked out of place. “Did you call Juan?”

“No. We’re not supposed to call him unless it’s an emergency, and – “ Well, it was an emergency. “Let’s just give it a little bit more time.”

Karen put her hand over his and didn’t question his judgment, for which he was grateful.

Marci showed up sometime after dark – Foggy wasn’t watching the clock – bearing take-out. Karen was the first to ask, “Why are you wearing – is that armor?”

“It’s a lead apron. Thank my dentist’s assistant,” Marci said, dumping the food on the tray next to the bed. The apron even said _Property of Dr. Holda’s Office_ on it. “Because, you know,” she waved her fingers around in the general direction of everywhere, “this stuff. Avenger stuff. Aliens, toxic waste, gamma radiation. I bet half the people here are walking biohazards. I’m not taking any chances.” She leaned in to Matt. “You hear that? If our kids come out blind it’s your fault and we’re suing. I don’t care if they can fly or whatever. We want _normal kids_.” She handed Foggy a plastic container of Egg Drop Soup and sat down in the nearest chair, and Foggy realized a lead gown was probably very heavy.

He decided not to mention bending.

“You look tired,” he told her after only a few spoonfuls of soup; he certainly didn’t feel like eating, so it was for show. “You don’t have to stay here. You should get some rest.”

“Please. It was a boring arbitration. I doodled on my Starkpad.” But she did look washed out, probably from the stress of not holding down food. As always, she had a brave face. “I came up with names for our kids.”

“Oh?” Because she’d said she didn’t want to do that yet.

“Yes. Hernia 1 and Hernia 2. They can fight over which number they want.”

“I don’t think your parents are going to approve.”

“I’ll stay with Matt,” Karen announced. “If you want to go,” she said to Foggy.

Marci was already looking down at her phone. “Don’t ask. He won’t.”

“Thank you,” Foggy said to Marci.

She got up, holding the apron in place, and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t think I’m not mad about it, but I know you.”

“He doesn’t have anyone else,” Foggy said. “I mean, like me. No offense, Karen.”

“No, I get it,” she said. She really didn’t, but no one was going to call her on it. “But I will stay, if you want to sleep somewhere. I don’t know, here. I can watch him.”

“Yeah, okay.” But Foggy knew very well he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.

**********************

It was four AM – maybe later, but early enough that the sky was still dark – - when Natasha arrived from whatever undercover mission she’d been on, because she was in civilian clothes but didn’t have a civilian face on. Foggy had sent Karen home eventually, and was dozing in the chair next to Matt’s bed.

“Do you want to tell me what this is about?” Natasha was all formality. She got right to the point when it counted.

“His um – you know the thing,” Foggy said. “It’s fucked up.”

“The spirit.”

“Yeah. He can’t – “ Foggy looked over at Matt, who did not look to be in any visible pain. “It tried to tell me something. I don’t know what. I’d never – I don’t think I was supposed to touch it, but I know they’re all screwed up inside. They’re in a lot of pain.”

“But there’s no injuries?”

“No. Do you think you can do something?”

“I can try,” she assured him. “Does anyone else know?”

“I didn’t try to explain it to anyone else. Matt wouldn’t want that. And I didn’t tell Juan yet. I don’t want him to know until he has to.”

Natasha gave a curt nod. “Then let’s get to work.”


	4. The Northern Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for descriptions of gore and chronic pain.

With Dr. Cho’s permission, they removed all of the metal sensors and plastic tubes from Matt’s body, leaving only his disconnected IV port, and put him on a rolling cot. This was apparently not the first time Natasha had done something like this, because there was a room in the lower basements that was nothing more than stone floors and a shallow tub in the ground. Dr. Cho turned the faucet on and checked the temperature before she set it to  run into the tub before leaving, locking the door behind her.

“I’m not an expert at this,” Natasha admitted as she pushed the cot to the edge. The tub was actually a gentle slope, and Foggy picked Matt up and set him gently down in the lukewarm water, so that Matt’s head rested on the slope and stayed above water level. The water smelled heavily of salt, and he floated. “But I’ve done this before with him.”

“How did it go?”

“The situation wasn’t as drastic,” she admitted. She sat on the edge of the tub and leaned in to her patient. “Matt, you know what I’m going to do. You’re going to want to fight it. Try not to.” She lifted Matt’s head and put a cloth under it to protect the back of his head. “I’m trying to help you, not hurt you.”

Foggy swallowed. “Does it hurt?”

“It can be disorienting if you’re not prepared for it,” Natasha admitted. “But Matt’s a special case.”

Foggy was assigned the task of holding Matt’s arm up so the IV port stayed clear of the water, which gave him a much-needed  chance to hold Matt’s hand,  to reassure himself as much as Matt. He had seen Matt’s airbending forms before, but Natasha’s waterbending was slower and looser, and more like a gentle dance of the hands as the water beneath her lit up bright blue. Matt gasped as the waters passed back and forth around him, but it seemed to be involuntary, and he settled down quickly.

And the next wave came, and gentle blue became a bright, angry purple as his whole body stiffed and he sprung out of the water, bolted upright, and made an awful sound, like a wailing machine.

“Matt!” Foggy leapt into the pool and held Matt’s torso as Matt’s head jerked forward and he hacked up mucus and bile into the water in front of him. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” As he held Matt he could sense the anger, coming from no specific source, but it was a protective sort of anger. “Shh.”

Matt eventually stopped hacking up his lungs and his head slumped into Foggy’s lap, and his body shut down again. Foggy looked up accusingly at Natasha.

She was a little less collected this time, but she was still Black Widow, and her assessment was firm. “We need an expert.”

“Tell me that you know one.”

Natasha already had her phone open. “We’ll probably have to go to her. She won’t be close, but it’ll be faster than the other way around.” She still looked back up at Foggy, now soaked in saltwater and holding Matt up against him. “How much winter clothing do you have?”

**********************

Matt still hadn’t responded to anyone’s attempts to rouse him. Foggy thought Juan might be able to help, but he would have to bring him home and show him all this, and Foggy knew without needing to ask that a kid did not need to see his father this way. Foggy only stopped home for clothes, and for a hurried explanation that he needed to take Matt “somewhere really cold” to find a waterbending master.  Marci didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t look surprised.

“I am not having these kids without you.”

Foggy guiltily stared at her flat stomach. “Natasha said we can get there in a few hours.”

“Doesn’t matter. For the record, I am just going to hold them in until you get home,” Marci said. “And no outer space. If Matt has to go to space you are not going with him.”

“But – “

“I’m drawing a line. No leaving  the atmosphere.” She wasn’t entirely joking. “I need you here. With me.”

“Yeah, I know.” He kissed her. He knew that Marci had to come first, but Matt needed him right now, and he could not be replaced. “If it’s going to take long, I’ll just come home, okay? The Avengers can handle it. But I know Matt is in trouble and he needs me there. I can’t say how I – “

“Whatever.” She waved it off. “I know the deal. Matt has secrets. Just let me know how to tell Juan if you can’t do it yourself.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“He’s my stepson. I _have_ to do that.”

“I love you.”

“You’d better,” Marci said as she pinched his cheek. “Now go fix whatever Murdock broke.”

**********************

The Quinjet was waiting on the roof. Natasha exed the idea of taking anyone else; her waterbending teacher would not permit it. Foggy lifted Matt off the cot and carried him up into the hanger. It was easier than it used to be; earthbending made him stronger, even if he didn’t actually use it too much. But he wasn’t going to be trading blows with Jessica or Luke Cage anytime soon.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re lucky; she’s moved. Though Siberia’s not as bad as you’ve heard.” She plugged Matt into the various medical sensors and liquid drip before closing the hatch. “We can’t fly all the way. We don’t want anyone following us and she said the equipment gets messed up when we get in range. So she’s arranging some alternative transportation.”

Foggy had so many questions he knew not to ask. “In range of what?”

“She didn’t tell me,” Natasha explained. “And she probably has a good reason.”

They didn’t make small talk during the flight. Natasha probably knew how to make small talk – it probably came with deep cover for being a spy or whatever – but she wasn’t inclined to, at least around Foggy. She focused on flying the super sophisticated jet and Foggy watched Matt’s chest rise and fall. He’d never found it so fascinating and terrifying and he couldn’t look away. “Hey Matt.” Once in a while, he reminded him that he was there. “Hey, um, I guess you don’t have a name. But I’m here for you, too.” There was no way to untangle Black Sky from Matt. It just hadn’t come up much before, or at least not in a way Matt directly admitted. There was the divorce, but that was it. Now that Foggy had felt the intensity of Black Sky’s emotion, it put the whole separation in a much starker light.

He’d lost track of time until he realized his mouth was dry and it was dark outside. And he was starving. He ate a power bar and looked out the window next to the cockpit. “Holy shit. Are those – “

“The Northern Lights, yes,” Natasha said very matter-of-factly. He supposed she was not as easily awed.

And suddenly Foggy wanted to cry, because he knew that even if Matt was awake, he could not see this. He wouldn’t even know they were there. “Where are we?”

“Nearing the Arctic Circle. Still no response from Matt?”

“No. We’re not going to the North Pole, are we?”

Natasha cracked just a small smile. “Sorry, you won’t get to see Santa Claus.”

“I’m not supposed to believe in him anymore,” Foggy said. “Uh, not that I did anyway.”

“Sure.” She checked the instrumentation that Foggy couldn’t begin to understand. “Get out the blankets. We’re about ten minutes out from where Inna says the navigation gets scrambled by interference.”

Foggy pulled Matt’s IV (again, part of his secret EMT training) and dressed him, wrapping him in layers of blankets as much as he could without restricting his breathing. Matt was supposed to be able to control the heat of the air around him as an airbender or something, but he definitely wasn’t able to do it now. “Come on, buddy.” He could carry him bridal-style, but not forever. He was stronger if he was standing on solid earth, which he wasn’t. He couldn’t walk very far with Matt but this wasn’t the time to ask about that. They would make it somehow.

Giant gusts of wind sprinkled with flurries greeted them as the ramp extended to the ground, which was covered in packed snow. There was nothing else for miles, but the darkness and snowfall made it impossible to see very far. Foggy held Matt’s face close to his jacket to protect him from the cold as he followed Natasha out. Needless to say, the cold didn’t seem to bother her one bit, and she strode straight into the darkness until the form in the distance came into shape.

Foggy should have recognized what he was looking at, but it took him a minute, one presumably spent with his mouth hanging open.

Former-Director Fury was unimpressed. “What? You’ve never seen a man ride a sky bison before?”

“Um – technically – “ But Foggy couldn’t find words.

Natasha was better at hiding her surprise, and walked right up to the massive furry head of the white-furred half-bison half-otter thingy and put her hand on its nose. It yawned, nearly sucking her in wholesale, which it definitely had the mouth to do. “Let me guess. His name is Howard?”

“Of course it is,” Nick said from his perch on the back of its neck.

“After Stark?” Foggy asked, still kind of mystified to see this animal outside of the spirit world, so Natasha had to be the one to push him towards its side, where the harness had a rope ladder to get them on the saddle.

“After the duck,” Natasha said, because again, these were all the most obvious things in the world and Foggy was just slow on the uptick. She climbed up first, and Foggy handed Matt up to her, then pulled himself up.

The saddle was large enough for three adult passengers and their supplies. Foggy kept Matt’s head in his lap. “Should I ask where you got a sky bison, Mr. Fury?”

“No,” Fury said. “Howard. Yip yip!”

‘Howard’ the sky bison slapped his giant otter tail against the ground behind him as he lifted off the ground and flew forward, into the oncoming storm. The wind made it too noisy to talk, and Foggy spent most of the ride protecting what little was exposed of Matt’s skin against the angry gusts. He tried not to look down, but all he saw when he did was a vast expanse of white. The trees were gone now. Foggy could only barely make out the mountains buried beneath layers of ice.

Howard landed with an audible thump on a vast expanse of snowy hills. There was nothing in sight, but Fury slid off the bison confidently and approached a particular pyramid-shaped wall of ice. Only up close did Foggy realize that it didn’t look entirely natural in its placement.

Fury didn’t provide any instructions, but Natasha approached it. It didn’t take her long to puzzle it out. She pressed her hands against the wall, turning the ice to water, which slid away to reveal a metal door with a keypad. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo was painted on the door.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Foggy asked. “I thought this would be a White Lotus thing.” He glanced at Fury, then Natasha. “Um, whoops.”

“Your secret society isn’t so secret,” Fury said. “Especially since I used to work for a Grand Lotus.”

“Pierce,” Natasha said, referring to the HYDRA guy Foggy had read about, but only after he was dead. “He had you build this place?”

“First I had to find something for him. Don’t think I was just randomly up north sightseeing when we found Cap in the ice,” Fury said. “We weren’t looking for him. We were looking for what’s in here.”

But before he could open the plastic casing to the security panel, the metal doors slid open, and light poured out into the night, and two people emerged. One was a woman unfamiliar to Foggy, with grey hair and heavy layers of blue garb and decorations in her hair, and the White Lotus symbol on the beaded necklace hanging off her.

The other was Stick.

**********************

“Christ, Matty.” Stick was old, and he looked much older than Foggy remembered him, but he was fast, and he came forward and took Matt away from Foggy impossibly fast, so much so that Foggy’s first instinct was to strike him for taking Matt away, but he managed to stop himself, because that would be a bad idea in Foggy’s general plan to continue staying alive. Stick cradled Matt gently, burying his head in Matt’s unresponsive chest before turning inside.

“He knows what happened,” Foggy said to Natasha. “Did you know – “

“I didn’t tell Natasha that Stick was here,” the older woman said in a heavy Russian accent. “But I told her to come as fast as she could.”

“Foggy Nelson, this is my waterbending teacher and Grand Lotus, Inna,” Natasha said, gesturing for him to approach her. They shook, and she beckoned them inside.

As Foggy stepped in, he felt a warm, yellow glow from the center of the small, mostly underground facility, and looked up to the familiar site of a shining Spirit Portal, like the one in Japan.

“I thought there was only one.”

“That’s what Izo says,” Fury explained. “But Pierce learned otherwise. There are always two near the poles, so he sent me north because the South Pole’s full of scientists, and I found Cap along the way. He told me to keep it off the S.H.I.E.L.D. grid, so I did. It’s good to have one hidey-hole in your back pocket.”

Foggy looked further up and he could see how the building was designed around the portal, to hide it from anyone who happened by. There was no one staffing the place, just the six of them, and one sky bison. “Can you help Matt?”

“He’s not a bender,” Inna explained.

“Lion turtles can keep their hands to themselves, thank you very much,” Fury said, and his one visible eye glared particularly hard in their direction. “This is bigger than Murdock. Do what you need to do, because there’s work to be done.”

**********************

Inna had an even more elaborate healing pool in the compound. The water was much deeper, and Stick had already waded in to the middle, which was about waist high, holding Matt in place.

“You know what happened to him?” Foggy demanded at the edge of the pool.

“Yeah. I know.” Stick sounded tired. His voice almost cracked.

“It’s your fault.”

“It’s complicated,” Stick said. “But yes.” He raised one hand and led the water up and down Matt’s body just once, gently, which sparked another angry burst of purple from Black Sky, but it was more of a whimper in comparison. His bending was not as sleek and polished as Natasha’s. He was an amateur, but he could still do more than Foggy.

“The doctors said there were no injuries,” Natasha offered.

Stick didn’t look surprised. “Izo pulled them apart.” He sounded like he didn’t want to be having this conversation, not ever, but was doing it because he had to, for Matt’s sake. “He can grab your Black Sky and pull and pull and pull until you think you’re going to break apart, and if you do, you’ll die. Then he lets go, but you don’t get put back together. You’re dislocated. You can’t find your other half. You didn’t die, but you want to, and you don’t have the power to make it happen.”

After a tense silence, Foggy said, “Why?”

“Because it was the worst thing he could do to Matt without killing him, and if he killed him, I could just go on ignoring him. He wants a fight.”

“You’re sure it was Izo?” Natasha asked.

Stick nodded. “He’s the only one who can do it.”

“But you know how to fix him,” Foggy demanded. “You know how to fix Matt.”

Stick frowned. “It’s not the word I would use.”

The tone didn’t instill Foggy with a lot of confidence, but at least he was finally with someone who knew – obviously on a personal level – what he was talking about. Foggy didn’t really care about Izo, or Stick, or any of their issues, and he wasn’t about to hide it. The only thing that kept him from jumping into the water and tearing Matt from Stick’s arms  was that he thought Stick might respond in kind, and Stick was faster, meaner, and tougher than he was.

“If we’re going to do this, someone needs to keep him –, “ Stick gestured with his head to Foggy, “Out of the water. Because it’s going to be ugly and he’s going to try to stop it.”

“I won’t,” Foggy said, with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Trust me,” Stick said in a tone that made Foggy even more uneasy. “You will.”


	5. Woke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia Time: 
> 
> \- Sometime during the Daredevil comics run (I think it was in the 80's, long after Matt and Natasha were no longer a couple and sharing a headline), Natasha showed up at Matt's brownstone with a note from Nick Fury that said a single word: "HOWARD." Natasha explained that this was code. Fury was a huge Howard the Duck fan (the character in the movies or the actual person in the Marvel universe, it's unclear) and this was his way of telling Natasha to "duck" and hide while some bad shit went down at SHIELD. So she laid low with Matt for an issue or two.
> 
> \- In the Avatar universe, the only two Spirit Portals are both at the poles and have been closed for 10,000 years (since Wan's time as the first Avatar). This isn't isn't dealt with until Korra opens both of them and then accidentally creates a third at Republic City in season 4. In this fanfic universe, the earth has three more that we know about: one in Japan (open), one in San Francisco (closed), and another in Hell's Kitchen (closed).

Every time Matt thought he was dead, and it might really be over, something would stir the waters of his complacency and the pain would be recognized anew. Like too many sounds at once, he could temporarily swallow them up, forcing them to cancel each other out so that he heard nothing, but he would always be jolted back with pain. With physical pain he could tell his brain to try to nullify acknowledgement of the dull ache of a slow-healing wound, but he couldn’t get his mind around this wound, or where it was, or where he was, or even if he was still in his body.

He wanted to be whole again, or he wanted it to be over. There were no gray areas in this choice, but he was powerless to make it.

Once in a while he would pick up a sound or a smell. Foggy’s aftershave. Warm water. Cold wind. Saline in his veins. This information drifted by him like stations on the subway, but he never really connected with any of it, and had no desire to. What little willpower he had was going toward finding Black Sky, and he knew the feeling was mutual, but that was about all he knew. Their rift was an open sore, refusing to heal, or even scab over. The blood kept coming, but the source was never exhausted, not while they were both still alive, and Matt was _pretty_ sure about that.

He didn’t care anymore. Caring took up brainpower. Caring meant pushing away the pain, which was like trying to hold up a collapsing roof. Caring meant giving up the fight to find Black Sky and make them whole and he would never stop doing that.

And then something pulled, and pulled and pulled and Matt thought _this is death_ , but he fought it anyway.

**********************

“Cough it up. All of it, Matty.”

Stick had been right; Foggy did _not_ like what was happening and it was taking him every bit of willpower he had left not to jump in, shove Stick out of the way, and carry him to safety. That and Nick Fury standing next to him with a firm arm out to warn him back.

Stick held Matt in the water while Inna and Natasha tried to waterbend Matt’s spirit out of him, then back in again, like popping an arm back into its socket. Foggy had actually done that to Matt once, and it had taken two tries to get it right, but Matt had been patient because at the time he’d also been desperate, and after the intense pain there was some pretty instantaneous relief.

Not so with this. Matt’s body would light up purple, as if Black Sky  were bursting at the seams, trying to escape and assert itself and maybe murder everyone trying to harm it, then sink back down and Matt would start coughing up black bile that didn’t look like anything natural, even for vomit. When he was breathing well again, Stick would lay him back down and say, “Again.” Inna was a tough woman and a competent bender, but Natasha looked increasingly uncomfortable with this process. When they did take a break, Matt was still unresponsive but he’d lost what color remained in him and his fingers would shake with an inner tremor that had to be exhausting.

And Stick would wipe him clean and pat his head and waterbend the sick off him and say, “Again.”

“This can’t – it can’t kill him, right? This is healing,” Foggy said, not so confidently, to Stick.

“If he dies, he’ll still be better off than he is now,” Stick said with a little too much confidence.

“Because I am his power of attorney,” Foggy insisted. “Not you. You may be an old ninja master but you cannot make these decisions for him.”

“I’m the only one who can make these decisions!”

“Enough!” It was Inna who shouted, because it was Inna whom Stick seemed to be interested in listening to. “We won’t let him die.” She glared at Stick, who knew it somehow (of course) and stepped back from the intimate striking distance he had come close to with Foggy. Not that Foggy had backed away either. “That’s not what we’re here to do.”

So there were two people in the world Stick sort of listened to, on a good day, and only one of them was Matt, Foggy learned. He had no idea who Inna was to Stick, but they were about the same age, and Inna had probably trained Natasha to be a spy, and Stick trained child soldiers, so it made sense that their paths would cross. This wasn’t the time to ask about – not that there would _ever_ be a good time to ask about it. Not when they needed to get Matt dry, clean, and full of fluids via a drip, so they could start the torturous process all over again.

Foggy tried to brace himself, but it never worked when he _saw_ Black Sky and it was trying its best to come out at the seams, even if it meant Matt’s body unraveling like an older sweater, and Stick would hold Matt down under the water until Matt’s body was so seized up he could free himself even from Stick’s grasp to get away from the people who were hurting him, probably as far as he knew, but his lungs always failed him and he would double over, too weak to stand and get away, until he finally said, “Stop.”

**********************

Matt didn’t care how it ended as long as it was over, so that he barely registered the sensation of being wet, and cold, and hearing human voices, and feeling their gnarled hands on his shoulders, and then around him, holding his head against fabric, and Matt recognized the smell, and the heartbeat, and in the very far distance, not his own Black Sky but Stick’s, who desperately, desperately loved him and didn’t want to be doing what they were doing, and wanted to stop his pain, and would give anything to stop his pain.

All of this he eventually processed enough to realize he and his Black Sky had snapped back in place, sort of, both of them with their minds too dulled by exhaustion to fathom each other, and as much as he wanted to rest, he had to use his voice again. His mouth felt strange, and using it felt strange, but he managed to say, “Stop,” though he didn’t know if it was really audible. His throat was burning from stomach acids, and the rest of his body he couldn’t really connect to, only that Stick, the hardened asshole who had abandoned him when he needed him most was now holding him with a gentle determination that signaled that he would stay there as long as Matt needed.

Other people were talking to him. _Foggy_ , Matt’s Black Sky told him. His Black Sky wanted to see Foggy. Matt wanted to see him too, but his senses were wildly out of whack, and he only knew Foggy was somewhere, and talking to him, but his brain fumbled on the specifics.

“Drink,” someone said, someone with a Russian accent, and gave him a juice pack, and it was really holding the plastic in his hands that made him realize this was all happening, but it took her a few more tries, because he didn’t totally connect the order to something he actually needed to do, and spend energy doing. The drink was fruit from concentrate and had too much sugar, but he finished it anyway to help clear his throat.

They peppered him with questions, but he couldn’t respond to any of them. Even when he wanted to, the words didn’t make it all the way to his mouth. He was still severely disconnected from his body, which hurt all over, like he wasn’t quite in right, and all he wanted to do was crawl inside of himself and go to sleep.

It was Foggy talking to him now, in another room, on an air mattress, and Foggy’s hand on his shoulder, and Black Sky said _, Don’t go don’t go don’t go,_ but Matt didn’t say anything and Foggy sounded like he was crying, and before Matt shut down, he said, “Thank you.”

**********************

When Matt woke he didn’t know when it was, or where he was, but he did have an inkling that his body, still sore and uncomfortable, was wrapped in a fleece blanket which had been pulled tight around him so that he was curled up as tightly as possible on the mattress. The room was small, the walls metal, and the air clean but cool, and beyond that he couldn’t tell too much. The feeling of not being right in his own body hadn’t totally dissipated, and his senses faded in and out of their own accord.

“Drink,” Stick said, and it was an order. Matt recognized that enough to sit up on the mattress and accept a chipped clay tea cup from Stick, which sat in his hands, steam rising from it and wetting his face.

“Drink,” Stick repeated, even more firmly, and Matt put the cup to his lips and swallowed all of it, a more complicated process than he remembered, and when he emptied it, Stick took the cup and refilled it from an old pot, heating it with his firebending, and made him drink again.

After two cups, Matt started to feel warmth running through him and the pain settled a bit more.

“I know you don’t feel like talking,” Stick said, “but I need you to push yourself.”

It sounded kind of like Stick was asking, which was strange, because Matt couldn’t remember when Stick had asked him to do something, rather than just telling him.

“Say your name.”

He knew the answer but it took a long time to get it to his mouth. “Matt.”

“Do you know where you are?”

He supposed he ought to try to figure it out, but he was tired, and everything was already so hard. Even if he was slapped for being lazy, he would just roll with it. He’d had worse from Stick. “No.”

“You’re at a Spirit Portal near the North Pole,” Stick said. “Your friend Foggy and that Black Widow brought you here.”

He didn’t remember any of it. He figured Stick knew that already.

Stick gave him another cup of tea to drink. “You need to tell Foggy to leave.”

Black Sky burst up into Matt’s throat with all kinds of curses in response to that, but Matt was the only one of the two of them who could talk, and he didn’t know what to say.

“You let him touch your Black Sky, didn’t you?” Was it anger or disappointment in Stick’s voice? It was hard to tell. “I told you never to let anyone do that.” He poked him. “Drink. Then answer.”

Matt forced another cup down. Talking was much harder. “I think so. It just happened, it – “

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to do it. You wouldn’t be that friggin’ irresponsible,” Stick said, even though Matt wasn’t so sure that was true. “But you need to tell him to leave. For his own sake.” At Matt’s silence, he ‘hmph’ed. “Normally I’d let you figure this one out, but since you’re not going to be up to speed right away, I’ll just tell you – Your Black Sky can influence people. And it wants to. It wants to spread its feelings. It wants to grab people and hold them tight.”

“Juan,” Matt managed to say.

“Juan’s got his own Black Sky. He can hold his own. You know it’s different,” Stick explained. “Foggy may be your best friend in the world, he may love you, he may really want to be here right now. But he’s not really making a choice. Black Sky wants him around so Black Sky is making it for him. Hell, he’d probably throw himself off a cliff if Black Sky wanted it. You need to push him away, so he can regain his independence.” Stick shrugged. “Unless, of course, you want him around to wait on you.”

Matt’s first response was that he did. He never wanted Foggy to leave. That wasn’t all Black Sky – some of that was him. But the human in him had a moment to think it over, and realized quickly that if Stick were right, then it had to be done. He wanted Foggy to want to be around, not be there because his brain was telling him he had to be. And Foggy had other people – he had Marci, he had Juan, he had Karen, he had – shit, he had two kids on the way, and he was up here at the North Pole, caring for Matt? Marci must be so pissed at him.

“Okay,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if he could do it immediately. He didn’t have many words in him. His instinct was to retreat again, and to hold Black Sky and promise it that they would never ever be apart again, and everything was going to be all right, and that desire blocked out a lot of other things.

“It’s not going to be that hard,” Stick said. “If it’s an order, he’ll take it. He won’t like it, but he won’t be able to help himself. In a few days, maybe a few weeks, with enough distance, he’ll get his head back on straight. But you have to be able to talk, and I know you don’t want to.”

Matt shook his head. No, he did not want to.

“I’d do your walking and talking for you, but I can’t.” Stick put a hand on Matt’s head and pulled him in. Matt didn’t know what to think of it – he couldn’t quite process any signs of affection from Stick – but his Black Sky certainly loved it. Even though they didn’t feel quite right together, he was more in touch with his Black Sky, which would half-chatter in his ear not really human words. Was this how Juan felt all the time? What it why he could be so casual about it?

“It has to come from you, Matty,” Stick said. “If we had time, you could stay laid-up like this. I know you want to. You want to heal on your own time. But we don’t really have a choice.”

Stick knew all this because ... well, Matt could puzzle that one out for himself, even with his limited senses and mental sophistication at the moment. Someone had done this to Stick – probably Izo – and Stick had survived, but by the sound of it, just barely. Matt wondered who had been there for Stick.

“No one,” Stick answered, and Matt was unclear as to whether he had actually said anything out loud to warrant the answer. “I was like that for three years. They thought it was a coma. Then some monks came by the facility, thought it might be a good idea to perform an exorcism. Lucky me.”

It occurred to Matt that he had no idea how much time had passed between Izo’s meeting in the apartment and now, but it hadn’t been three years, and he couldn’t imagine spending another minute in that half-state of disconnection, much less _years_. Years was too long; maybe it was why Stick was so harsh and beaten and resilient at the same time.

“Izo took me back,” Stick told him. “Because I climbed back up the mountain and made him. He told me it was a test, and I had passed. We both pretended to believe he wasn’t lying. He restored me to my position, but it wasn’t the same. I didn’t trust him anymore, and he regretted it. I think back then he regretted hurting me and now he regrets not killing me instead. In the long run … it would have been better for him. But he didn’t.” Stick was smiling but there was a lot of pain in that smile. “He’s regretting that now.”

Matt tried to remember Izo’s words, even though they were fuzzy. He wanted to warn Stick, but Stick already knew. Matt felt sick; his stomach lurched. He’d failed to protect Stick. He’d failed to stand up to Izo. He’d had one job and he’d fallen down on it.

“You did good, kid,” Stick said, and Matt once again wondered if he’d said anything out loud, or if their Black Skies were communicating somehow, or Stick was just a good guesser. “You are a stubborn little shit. And Izo _hates_ stubborn little shits. Everything else – that wasn’t really about you specifically. You know that. But I’m still sorry about it.”

Stick _never_ said he was sorry, and Matt wondered if this were really Stick. His senses were a mess, but his Black Sky had no doubts: _Yes, yes this is him_. “I didn’t ...” It took him a long time find words. Stick gave him time. “I said no. To Izo.”

“Even if you’d said yes, it wouldn’t have helped,” Stick said. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

Matt couldn’t dream of disobeying him.

**********************

When Matt woke, Foggy was there, sitting on the mattress next to him. Foggy was talking but the words were flowing over Matt. He had to focus to process them, and he was still so sore that it took up most of his energy. “Foggy.”

“What?” Foggy picked his head up. His heartrate shot up. Maybe this was the first time Matt had spoken. “Do you need something? Can I get you anything?”

He didn’t know. His body was probably hungry and thirsty, but he still felt like he wasn’t entirely in it. The room only had the mattress and the blankets over him, so he sat up, leaning against the wall, trying to gather his words.

“Stick says you need to eat.” Foggy produced some power bars, the kind Matt could tolerate, though all of them tasted a bit like shoe leather. He pressed one into Matt’s hand, but Matt didn’t do anything with it. He couldn’t quite power his right arm to be interested. Foggy smelled of his clothing, and the sweat beneath the many layers that he’d been wearing too long. “How do you feel?”

Matt leaned his head back against the icy wall and wondered.

“He said you might have trouble talking, but we should push you.”

That one, he didn’t have to answer, for which he was grateful.

Foggy filled the space. It was what he did. “Marci says hi. She is pretty pissed at you, by the way, for needing to go to the North Pole. But when is she not pissed at you?”

He was at the North Pole? Really?

“She told Juan that you went on a mission and I came with you,” Foggy continued. “She didn’t get into specifics. No one is supposed to know where you are, so Izo can’t find you. Electronic devices don’t work this close to the Spirit Portal, so I had to ride out to get a signal on Nick Fury’s sat phone.”

None of that made sense to Matt. But he did scrounge up some words. “Is she okay?”

“What? You mean like, health-wise? Yeah, she’s fine. The stress isn’t good for her, but she says it’s fine and that she’s used to it. You were right by the way. About the twins. Juan said they might be benders.”

“Earthbenders,” Matt said before he realized he’d said it.

“Did you – G-d damnit Matt, did you know?”

Foggy deserved an answer to that, so Matt tried his best. “Wasn’t sure.”

“Liar.”

Matt shrugged. This was too complicated an argument to have. The ice was giving him chills, so he pulled back and tightened the blankets around him, which Foggy straightened.

“Is there anything else you know, that you’re holding back on to be polite?”

Matt shook his head.

“Really? Nothing?”

Again, just a head shake was enough. He couldn’t bear to lie to Foggy, anyway. He didn’t have the strength for that on a good day.

Foggy helped him eat the power bar. He unwrapped it for him, broke it up into little pieces, and fed them to Matt, who agreed to the process about halfway through and started eating for himself. Beneath his skin, he still felt a tremor of his shaken soul and Black Sky’s unease with recent events, one that he couldn’t shake, and he couldn’t tell Black Sky otherwise.

**********************

Stick came back sometime later, after Matt had slept again, and made him get up and walk around a little after drinking a lot of tea. Then he showed him into the main room, with the Spirit Portal Foggy had been talking about, and Matt recognized the humming sound that he’d been filtering out as white noise. “How long?” The second part of the sentence took him a moment. “Have I been here?”

“It’s always been here,” Fury said. Holy shit, that was Nick Fury. Matt hadn’t heard from Nick in a few years – not that he’d ever been in his presence much – and come to think of it, had no idea what he was up to. This, apparently. “There’s another one near the South Pole, buried under the ice. No one’s found it yet.”

Matt decided not to bother with all the obvious questions. He wondered if they’d been explained to him already and he hadn’t been listening. He just knew there were only a few heartbeats – Stick, whom he was leaning on, Foggy, Fury, Natasha, and some older woman Matt didn’t know, who smelled of seal pelts and bear fur.

“How long before Harmonic Convergence?” Nick Fury asked, as if that were a completely reasonable question that made sense.

Stick sniffed at the air. “Couple months.”

“Is that enough time?”

“Of course not. But it’ll have to be,” Stick said. “Matty, what did I tell you?”

Stick had told him a lot of things, but they were all kind of a word soup to him. He wanted to lie down and ignore all of this, whatever it was that was going on, but he couldn’t. Stick expected something of him, and he had to remember what it was.

_Don’t do it_ , his Black Sky said. _Don’t send him away._

“Foggy,” Matt said as he remembered, and Foggy’s posture sprung to attention. “You have to go.”

“What?”

“You have to go,” he repeated. It was easier to just say what he already said. But he had to summon the words now. For Foggy. “You have to go back to New York and back to Marci.”

“But you – “

“I know I need you,” he said, while his Black Sky said _Yes yes yes yes_. “But Marci needs you more. Juan needs you more.”

“But – “

“Go home,” Matt said. “Take care of them.”

Foggy opened his mouth to complain, to fight him, but no sound came out. His whole body was tense and a normal Foggy would be in full combat mode, but this Foggy _stopped himself_ , and this was not a Foggy Matt was familiar with, and he didn’t like it.

“Foggy, I’m sorry,” Matt said, words coming easier to him now because he really, really meant it. “I’m sorry for what we did to you. It’s going to wear off.” Black Sky didn’t want to wear off. “But until then, I want you to board a plane and go home and not try to contact me.”

Foggy was stuck standing still but he was also near crying. G-d, Stick had been right, and Matt remembered that he hated it when Stick was right.

“Tell Marci ... whatever you want. About anything.” He didn’t want to have to specify. “Tell Juan I’ll be okay.”

Finally, Foggy managed something. “Did Stick put you up to this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Matt said. He had no great desire to lie to Foggy, who was tensed up and coiled to strike in defense of Matt if given any opportunity. “He’s right.”

Foggy didn’t take the anger of the betrayal out on Matt, as he rightfully should have. It was a testament to his impaired thinking that he tried to punch Stick in the face, though he not nowhere near him. Stick didn’t stop him (Stick didn’t see overly concerned, actually). Matt put himself between them with only a few short steps, his Black Sky temporarily silent as it was torn between its love for Foggy and its love for Stick. Matt couldn’t say he blamed it as he caught Foggy’s arm. Foggy didn’t work out, wasn’t in the greatest shape, but he was still an earthbender, so he had more strength behind him than his shape and health suggested, but he crumpled under Matt’s touch.

“It’s not your fault,” Matt repeated, because he knew the sounds of Foggy’s face when it made a horrified expression. He had enough experience in that department. “Just go. Nat, can you take him back?”

“Matt,” Foggy begged. “Don’t do this. Don’t send me away.”

“If that’s what you think is best,” Nat said, sounding concerned, but probably more about how she was going to physically get Foggy on the plane, and how he was going to act on the way back.

“It is.” He turned back to Foggy. “I need you to follow Nat and do what she says. I need you to go home to your wife and our son. That’s what I need most right now. And the very fact that you can’t say no to me is the reason.” As Foggy was further stymied with his answer, Matt turned his head to the others again, so they would know he was talking to them. “And I need something to write on.”

**********************

Matt knew Foggy was in tears long before he smelled the salt. He hugged Foggy at the door to the world outside, where the wind was like tiny daggers on his face and apparently there was just a huge sky bison sitting there, waiting for them, like that was a normal thing to be happening in the material world.

“Give this to Marci,” he told Natasha. “Thank you. For everything.” He was still was not entirely clear on what she’d done but it definitely involved logistics, because he hadn’t magically transported them all to the North Pole – unless he had.

He wasn’t sure what he could do.

Foggy made one last plea and it pained Matt to listen to it. “Just go.” And Foggy did, because Foggy had to listen to him, and because the sky bison took off.

“You did good,” Stick told him, ushering him back inside.

“Why are you going so soft on me?” It wasn’t meant as a joke. He said it because he honestly wanted an answer. Stick had never led him anywhere before, never praised him before. “Did something happen in Tibet?”

“Yeah. I mastered airbending. But that’s not the point,” Stick said. “You’ve never really had to go against your Black Sky, have you?”

“Not since the divorce,” he admitted. He was alone in the compound now, with Stick and the woman he now knew was Inna, mother of a Black Sky herself and Natasha’s former trainer (and current waterbending teacher). “And that was – I needed help. From the lion turtles.”

“Spirits are stubborn,” Stick said. “More stubborn than either of us, and that’s saying something.”

Matt was glad to be behind the walls again, where he couldn’t sense Foggy anymore, because he couldn’t stand to watch him go.


	6. The Stepson

“What I’m about to tell you is going to sound a little strange.”

Marci glared at her from across the table in the breakfast nook. Natasha had a feeling that this was a well-practiced expression. She didn’t know Marci that well aside from the S.H.I.E.L.D. file on her (which was possibly the most mundane file they had). They’d only spoken at  Foggy and Marci’s wedding, and that was just to wish them well. Matt more or less kept his thoughts to himself on her (“She’s fine.”) which meant that they probably barely got along. Considering all that being Matt’s friend put Foggy through, Natasha couldn’t blame either of them. And he was putting her through the ringer right now.

Foggy was asleep on the sofa, still clothed from the trip, sans only jacket and shoes. As Stick had warned, Foggy did ... flip out ... a little at being so far from Matt, and had to be sedated on the trip home. He came out of it a little when they got to the apartment, stimulated by the change in scenery, but mostly ranted about Matt to Marci before passing out again. And then Marci had rolled her eyes and offered Natasha something to drink.

“Please tell me it’s not like, a magic spell or something,” Marci said. There was a lot of ginger in her tea and pepto-bismol next to the sink. She didn’t look sick, just tired, and not just of the weird behavior of her husband. Natasha could piece the rest together, but it certainly wasn’t her place to say anything.

No wonder Matt had been so insistent on Foggy going home. Marci didn’t look or sound like she needed bullshit right now, so Natasha said, “Do you want me to lie?”

“Oh my G-d,” Marci said. “Just answer me like we’re normal people who have normal things happen to them.”

That was fair. “Foggy was exposed to something and now he’s obsessed with Matt. It’ll wear off, but they need to be separated. Matt’s not going to call, and if Foggy attempts to call him, he will not answer. No texting, no nothing. He’s probably going to beg you to contact Matt for him. Don’t do it. Let it wear off.”

“It wears off? When, exactly?”

“Probably inside a week.”

“And how will I tell? Because if Matt’s off doing something dangerous, he’s just going to be worried like normal.”

“He might realize that he’s been acting strange,” Natasha said. “That’s probably the breaking point.” She pulled the folded note out of her inside pocket and put it on the table. “Matt wrote you something.”

“Matt doesn’t write anything,” Marci said, but opened it up all the same. “Okay, he _did_ apologize. Good for him.” She didn’t exactly sound impressed. “Where is he?”

“An undisclosed location.”

“When is he coming home?” Marci said. “You know, to his life? His law practice? His _kid?_ ”

“We don’t know.”

“Well, fuck me,” Marci said, though the anger wasn’t directed to Natasha specifically. Marci sounded rightfully tired of all this, at a time when she probably needed a certain amount of stability in her life. “But you’re in contact with Matt?”

“On and off.”

“Tell him to get his shit together, because seriously ...,” She made a vague gesture in her husband’s direction. “This is not acceptable.

Natasha leaned forward and said in her most reassuring voice, “I’ll let him know.”

**********************

Juan was used to Matt being gone for some Daredevil mission, so explaining that bit to him was easy over Skype. And he took the “magic spell” thing really well, because he had to be even more used to this shit than Marci was. He had two weeks of camp left. If Matt wasn’t back, Marci would murder him, but Juan would stay at their place. She didn’t mention that possibility. No reason to get him worried over nothing.

She still had her husband to deal with. He could more or less function like a human being and he went to work, but he admitted he didn’t get much work done, because _Matt this_ and _Matt that_ and he was really worried about Matt.

“You _should_ be worried about him,” she told Foggy, even though she knew he wouldn’t really hear her. “Because when I’m done with him he’s not going to be able to go on ‘missions’ for a long time.”

But she wasn’t entirely unsympathetic. Matt had written her a note. Matt did not write notes. Matt did not write anything; he didn’t even sign the firm’s Christmas card. The last time she’d seen his handwriting, it was on the whiteboard on his door at Columbia, where he’d tried to pass some sort of message on to Foggy, who’d spent a couple minutes with Marci trying to puzzle it out before giving up entirely. But he’d written her a note, a mix of script and block letters, which looked like it had hurt to write. The paper was pierced from the force of his hand at the pen.

_Marci,_

_I’m sorry about all of this. It’s my fault._

_Tell Foggy to tell you everything. You can even ask him about Black Sky. I’m giving written permission for him to answer all of your questions._

_I will be back as soon as I can._

_Matt_

Foggy was not really responsive to questions for the first few days. He would go on a tangent about Matt, and how worried he was about him, and there would be another round of begging Marci to text Matt, or Natasha, or some guy named Stick.

“He’s a ninja,” Foggy said, as if _that_ helped.

“What’s his number?”

“I don’t think he has a phone.”

So, not thinking clearly. But on the fourth day Foggy seemed to come up for air, and in a brief moment of clarity said, “Hey, um, have I been talking about Matt too much?”

“Yes.”

“That’s crazy. I’m so sorry. But – “ And then that moment was over, and he was back to thinking out loud about what kind of non-specific danger Matt might be in, and if he needed Foggy, and how Foggy would go about helping him.

On the fifth day Marci was sicker than normal. She blamed stress, and Matt, but Foggy took notice, and sat with her in the bathroom and rubbed her shoulders and told her to call in late for once, even though she would never do it.

“So, this is gonna sound kinda crazy,” Foggy said, “But have I been like, really super obsessed with Matt?”

“ _Fucking yes_ ,” Marci said. “Natasha said it was a magic spell. Or that’s the answer we agreed to go with.”

Foggy looked down at the bathroom rug, contemplative for a rare moment. “Holy shit, I think I have.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

As she swallowed back more bile (how was there anything left in her stomach?), Foggy ducked out and returned with a cold Gatorade. “Have I been ignoring you? Shit, I’m really sorry.”

“I’ve managed.” She hated Gatorade, but she needed electrolytes if she was going to stay sitting up at work. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know you want to go to work. I get that. At least let me take you. I don’t have any meetings because Matt’s – “ His face went blank. “Uh, what were we talking about? Matt?”

“Unfortunately. And you can ride with me but no going in with me. I can’t look like I need help. I don’t need help.”

“Okay.” Foggy was still flummoxed by whatever weird thing was going on in his head, but he was also aware of it, and that was a great sign, even if Marci couldn’t work up any particular enthusiasm at the moment. And he did ride with her to work, and kissed her, and told her to call him if she needed anything, or felt sick and wanted to come home, or wanted him to bring her lunch. He hadn’t quite connected the dots on how much trouble he was in, but she was willing to give him time on that.

She was just relieved he was back. Mostly.

The next day was a rare Saturday with a light schedule, and she could work from home without it being suspicious, and Foggy was annoyingly steadfast in his insistence that she eat food, even bringing it to her in bed.

“I don’t want to bring him up,” she said. “But Matt wrote me a note.”

“What? Really?” His reaction was borderline normal. His face did light up when she handed it over, but sunk when he read it. “Shit. It is not his fault.”

“I suspect he disagrees with you. Also, what the hell is a black sky?”

“Uh, that’s like – ” Foggy swallowed. “I can’t tell you. It’s not – it’s not really relevant.”

“Matt thinks it is. He wrote about it right there, and he did it so well I can actually read it, so he must have meant it.”

“I know, but – “ Foggy sighed. “Marci, I love you, but I can’t. I just can’t. It’s a really big deal. About Matt. Not you or me or the Avengers or whatever. It’s a personal thing about Matt. He should be the one to tell you.”

And he looked so pained that Marci stopped pushing him, because Foggy could be like a wounded puppy, and now he looked like a wounded puppy in one of those shelters that still put dogs down. He belonged in a Fiona Apple video that made people feel guilty about not being able to have a dog in their lives at that very moment. He didn’t want to do this, in the worst way, so she said, “Okay. For now.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for putting up with all of my shit. And Matt’s shit.”

“They’re hard to tell apart,” she admitted, but she’d known what she was getting into when she married Foggy.

**********************

Natasha kept in touch in a very coded way, and finally Matt did call – her, on her private line at the office, while Foggy was at work at his own firm – _their_ firm. “Hi.” He sounded weird. Tense. Kind of off. “Look, I’m – “

“Yeah, I know, super sorry. You’d better be. And don’t call Foggy; I just got him to shut up about you.”

There was weird noise on the other end of the line. Matt was probably outside somewhere, but it sounded like nature, and Matt hated nature. “Good. I’m ... really happy to hear that. That he’s okay.”

“Not the word I would use, Murdock.”

“Better. That he’s better.” Matt did not sound like himself. He sounded nervous, and awkward, and she could practically hear him fidgeting. “I need to ask for a favor.”

“You want us to take Juan,” she said. “Because you’re not coming back soon.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Well, more like huffing sounds, like Matt strangling himself over what to say. “Yeah. Please.”

“Well, yes, Foggy is his father, of course we’re going to fucking take care of him. But that’s not the point.”

“I know. I know.” He was obviously in anguish over it, but Marci wasn’t the type to let him off the hook. “He’s not in any danger.”

“Why would he be in danger?”

That earned her a long pause from Matt. “Shit. Um ... it doesn’t matter.”

“It sounds like it really matters.”

“Marci, I – “ But he was really tongue-tied over this. He did not sound well. “It will get explained. I promise. But I can’t. Not over this line.”

Maybe it was time to lay off Matt, and whatever shit he was going through, because it sounded awful. “I’m going to accept that as an answer for now. Any more unreasonable demands for me?”

“Are you okay? Is it too much stress?”

“Other people in the world have been – well, you know.” She didn’t want to say it in the office of all places. “And the human race goes on. But I will appreciate being less stressed when you come back and undo whatever you did to Foggy and take care of your own damn kid.”

“I deserved that,” Matt said. “Thank you. For everything. Take care of yourself.”

She was happy when he hung up on her, because damn, she did not need any more of Matt’s shit in her life right now.

**********************

Matt was still gone when Juan came home from summer camp. He seemed taller, but maybe that was Marci’s imagination. Foggy, who was more or less back to his old self (which meant he was still pretty worried about Matt, who only checked in indirectly), picked him up at the bus station, swung by Matt’s place to collect some things, and brought Juan to the apartment. Whatever he’d told Juan on the way hadn’t left Juan with a lot of questions to ask Marci when he walked in and she hugged him, because that was what you did when your stepson came home from being away for the first time.

“Did you have fun at camp?”

“Yeah, but the food sucked.”

“Camp food is supposed to suck,” she told him. “Just be happy nobody sent you a kosher camp that served knishes for lunch.”

But Juan was very happy to be back in civilization, even if he wasn’t at his _home_ home, and this home came with its own gaming system, so that was good enough for him. In a few weeks school would restart and he would be back to his overscheduled life. Let him veg out for a while.

Foggy was more settled now that Juan was back, and he was better at hiding his tension over the perpetual absence of his law/life partner. He also had a lot of work to catch up on, now that he was working for two.

And Marci was eating for three. Weren’t they all just a happy family?

She was actually home earlier than Foggy and checked on Juan’s room, and after he didn’t answer, she found him meditating on a pillow on the floor, his back ramrod straight as only an experienced meditator could hold it. She didn’t know why a kid needed to meditate, but she’d seen Matt like that, and Foggy said it was basically impossible to disturb him, so she let it go, and ordered dinner.

Foggy was still out when the food arrived, so she went to Juan’s room intending to shake him out of it before his lo mein got cold, but he was up again and at his computer. “Coming.”

They ate dinner mostly in silence because they were both very hungry (Marci’s appetite was back). Foggy texted to say he would be home late. She wasn’t annoyed. It was good that his firm was accomplishing something.

“Juan, I need to ask you something,” Marci said, and Juan groaned. He was not very good at hiding it because he was new to being a teenager. “What’s a black sky?”

Juan froze, and Marci knew she had hit pay dirt, but the look on his face made her agonize over her victory. All at once, he was a little kid again, who was shy and small and wanted to hide behind his father’s legs, but Matt wasn’t here to protect him.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she said, deciding to back up considerably, even if it was a somewhat strategic choice at this point. “That might have come off a little ... rude, and I’m sorry. If it’s a sensitive subject. But it, um, keeps coming up, and I can’t reach Matt, and Foggy absolutely refuses to tell me, but his judgment when it comes to certain things has always been sort of, well, shot.” And she could really use a drink right about now. Jesus, she was interrogating a little kid.

But Juan recovered. He straightened up like Matt did when he was preparing something. “I’m a Black Sky.”

Was it Juan they were talking about? Well, if he was going to lay out his cards on the table, he deserved reciprocation. “I don’t understand.”

“Black Skies are people born with an extra spirit in them,” he said. “It’s not meant to be in this world so it’s not really good, but it’s not really bad. That’s who Pio is.”

Juan’s imaginary friend? He used to talk about him all the time; Marci assumed Pio was some sort of coping measure for the trauma he’d been through. “He exists?”

Juan nodded. “He would have killed both of us if he had the chance. If you’re healthy, the spirit can come out, but the body can’t take it. But if you’re crippled, or deformed, or whatever, it can’t. That’s why Dad cut my arm off.”

Marci stammered through her next word. She couldn’t even make it into a question. “What.”

“Dad. Cut. My. Arm. Off.” The annoyed teenager had returned and the adult in the room was soooo uncool for not understanding. “It’s called like, an imperfect vessel. When you have a disability so major, it affects Black Sky, and the spirit goes dormant. So Pio can talk to me, but he can’t come out, because Dad had to do it but he didn’t want to make me blind, like other Black Skies did to him when he was a kid. They made it look like an accident, but it wasn’t. And he didn’t even know until he was like, forty.”

Marci wanted to point out that Matt wasn’t forty now, but maybe Juan didn’t have a sense of how old his dad was, just that he was old, in Juan’s opinion, and also dismembering your adopted kid was totally an okay thing to do. “You’re sure it was him?”

“Yeah, he wasn’t in a mask. I don’t like, remember it though.” He made a slicing gesture with his arm. The real one, not the plastic one. “I remember him telling me it was going to be okay, or something like that, and then I’m in the hospital, and he’s apologizing to me. But he didn’t have to apologize. I wasn’t mad at him.” He added, “I think he still feels bad.”

“You realize that what you’re saying makes zero sense, right?”

“We don’t talk about it,” Juan said. “We don’t even say the name Black Sky except to other Black Skies. Except Foggy, and he doesn’t use the word.”

“Oh, it’s offensive?”

“No, he’s scared of it,” Juan explained. “He saw what it can do, when it can come out. Looking at it too long can drive you insane, and he was there when they rescued me, before Dad cut me. People are scared of it. My parents thought I was possessed. They took me to a bunch of priests, and none of them liked working with me. They weren’t nice, like the priests in America. I still have scars.” Thankfully, he didn’t show them to her. “I was born this way, and I couldn’t help it, but I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Then ninjas came to take me and use Black Sky to do bad things, and my parents tried to protect me, and they died. The whole village tried, and that’s why they all died. Because the Hand wanted me. They brought me to America to do this ritual, and that’s how Dad and Foggy found me, and it’s why they adopted me. Dad promised me he would take care of me. His Black Sky promised the same thing.”

He wasn’t so casual when talking about the death of his family, something he never ever talked about, and Marci only knew about because of the adoption proceedings. “Yes,” she said, with a hard swallow. “I helped with immigration and making sure your dads got custody. Foggy loves you, but Matt was _crazy_ about it. I had never seen him like that.”

“Because he’s my dad,” Juan said. “And he’s the only one who could understand what I went through. And I’m the only one who can really understand him – I mean, maybe not Foggy. I don’t know. He’s not a Black Sky, so it’s hard to tell. I don’t know what it’s like _not_ to be one.”

Well, that made sense. Actually, no it didn’t, none of it did, but Marci could at least get a sense of the scope of it, and she could certainly begin to understand why this was something Foggy wouldn’t have wanted to tell her, with all the things he _did_ tell her about Matt, and all that Matt had admitted to her before the marriage. “How many Black Skies are there?”

“I don’t know. Like, maybe a couple hundred? In the whole world?” Juan seemed happy to be off the subject of his family. “I only know like, three, and I don’t think you know any of them. And even if you did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“But you can tell.”

He nodded. “Pio can tell. Pio can tell a lot of things. Sometimes he won’t shut up about it.”

“Like now?”

“Uh...”

“Does he like me?”

Juan made a familiar face, which was sort of a distracted frown, which came up now and again, and Marci now realized it was because he was listening to something, and that something was apparently a spirit inside him. “He says you’re complicated. He doesn’t really understand you.”

“Is that a compliment?” And she wasn’t sure if she should be singing Black Sky’s phrases to try to salvage this relationship.

“The thing with spirits is, they are who they are. They can’t lie. They can’t be someone that they’re not,” Juan explained, with some difficulty choosing his words. “He thinks you’re hard on the outside, but soft on the inside, so it’s like you’re two people. He doesn’t understand that. If you were a spirit, you would just be soft and loving all the time, because that’s who you really are.”

Marci’s heart was in her throat, which she hated. “No one’s ever told me that.” Though Foggy had certainly tried.

Juan shrugged like it was no big deal. “That’s what Pio says.”

“Do you disagree with Pio?”

“I can’t really disagree with him. It’s very hard to fight your Black Sky. We’re not separate people,” he explained. “And I also think he’s right. He’s usually right about people.”

“He can ... tell things? About people?”

She unconsciously put her hand on her stomach and Juan said, “Your kids are going to be earthbenders.”

“What?”

“That’s what he says,” Juan replied. “It’s good. Earthbenders are strong. They can live a long time.”

“I just ...” Marci had nowhere to go with this but the truth. “I want my kids to be normal.” Then, of course, she added, “No offense.”

Juan didn’t immediately respond to that. He bit his lip. Maybe he was listening to Pio again. Maybe he was just insulted and he didn’t want to admit it.

Marci belatedly remembered that for all he had been through – which was much, much more than she hoped she ever had to go through in her life – he was still a kid. “I’m sorry.”

“Pio doesn’t understand _normal_. He just _is_ ,” Juan said. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” she insisted. “There’s nothing wrong with you, or with Matt, or with Foggy’s earthbending. I’m just not as used to it as you are. Even though I see Matt all the time, it’s not that side of him. It hasn’t been my business. Or, not most of the time, anyway.” She rolled her eyes in the general direction of the living room. “What’s wrong with Foggy?”

“Um, I think he touched Dad’s Black Sky. Which you’re not supposed to do?” He was very unsure. “It’s intense. It’s personal. And it kinda ... messes with your brain, a little. The experience.” Again, there was that look. “Pio says that Black Skies can influence other people’s emotions. When people touch them.”

“Like a magic spell?”

“ _No_.” Juan sounded offended by the idea.

“It sounds a little bit like a magic spell.”

“It’s _not_.” His stubborn face was adorable. Much better than Matt’s.

“That’s what Natasha called it. And she’s an Avenger.”

“She doesn’t know!” he insisted. “Just ‘cuz she’s dating Dad, or whatever ... She doesn’t know.”

“They’re dating?”

“Um, I think so.”

She didn’t actually want to probe Juan’s knowledge of Matt’s sex life. It was just better than talking about amputating limbs and mass murder. And Juan was much more like Foggy when he got flustered. He couldn’t quite summon the rage that brimmed just beneath the surface of Matt, even if he did have an evil-ish spirit in him. “You know your dad’s in good hands, right? That he wouldn’t be away from you unless he absolutely had to be?”

“He promised he would take care of me,” Juan said. “And his Black Sky promised, too. And they can’t lie.”

But, Marci thought, they couldn’t predict the future, either. Or maybe they could. She thought it better not to ask.


	7. Raava's Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trivia Time: For those of you super familiar with Avtar mythology, I should say that it's pretty significant that the Black Skies are mentioned as being "purple."

Over the next few days, Matt was slept most of the time away. No one asked anything of him, except when Stick would prod him awake with some tea and make him talk a little, with questions Stick didn’t really care about the answers to. Matt didn’t know why talking was hard, but it was getting better. He was still sore inside in a way he couldn’t describe, like he and Black Sky were tilted by just a tiny enough angle that a bystander wouldn’t notice it unless they looked, and he wondered if that would ever go away. Sometimes it throbbed, usually at night, and  kept him awake when he wanted to disappear into the realm of sleep. More often than not, Stick would slip in at these instances and sit on the floor next to the mattress, because of course he knew somehow. Matt didn’t want to ask and Stick mostly didn’t offer answers.

Stick taught him to meditate all over again, as if Matt had forgotten, even though he hadn’t. He just had trouble now, because out of nowhere his senses would bounce around, and noise from far away would become louder than something up close, and startle him out of it. He couldn’t enter the Spirit World, and didn’t try.

“Black Sky can use your senses,” Stick explained. “It’s not easy, but the two of you can do it. When you’re not in sync, it might use different ones than the ones you’re focusing on. You’ve always been in sync, so you’ve never had to deal with it before.”

And by implication, Stick had been dealing with it for years.

“Does it stop?” Matt was embarrassed by how much it sounded like he was begging. He had been vulnerable enough these past few days in front of Stick, who didn’t like vulnerability. “Does it ever fully go away?”

“The pain you’re feeling?”

Matt nodded furiously. He still preferred not talking to talking.

This time, Stick gave in and didn’t make him say it. “It morphs into something else. Something you can use.”

“I don’t want it to.”

“And I’m not going to feed you some bullshit to make you feel better, you pansy,” Stick said, and Matt was secretly relieved to hear Stick sound like his old self again. Well, probably not secretly. Stick seemed to know everything he was thinking. “You can control your Black Sky. You can use it. It can make you stronger. It can make you live longer. You can learn other types of bending faster.”

“Like Izo.”

“Yes.” But Stick didn’t love the comparison.

“Isn’t that – abusing it?” Matt couldn’t help but think of his Black Sky as a him, but he knew that was just because he was male, and there wasn’t real gender at work here.

“It’s not something it doesn’t want to do,” Stick said. “When you’re really communicating, you’ll know that. If it makes you stronger, you both get stronger. If it extends your life, you both live longer. Remember that it’s in that fragile body with you, for the long haul, and it knows it.”

“I thought it couldn’t leave my body.”

“Without your consent, no. And it can’t really get far, even if you help it. But it can boost what you already have, because there are two of you, working towards the same goals.”

He had no idea what his goals were, other than to stop feeling this way, which was all he was focused on. He just wanted to feel like himself again, and here was Stick, telling him that he never would.

Matt tried not to focus on that, but he didn’t succeed. When Stick wasn’t with him, Stick was outside with Inna, working on waterbending. Matt knew they were sharing a room – they smelled too much like each other – but that was it, and he decided he didn’t know what else was going on unless he had to. He’d just never seen anyone interact that much with Stick of their own free will, which seemed to be the case here, and he couldn’t help but wonder.

The only other person around was Nick Fury, who came and went, either on his sky bison, or in and out of the Spirit World through the portal. Matt barely knew him despite his years working on and off with the Avengers, so he didn’t race to start a conversation with him. It wasn’t until he found Nick alone in the tiny kitchen, heating tea, that Matt decided he couldn’t help himself.

“Um, Director Fury,” Matt said, and whatever Fury’s current status was, he didn’t correct the title. “How are you?”

“You mean, what am I doing here?”

“Um, maybe.” He wrapped the blanket around him and sat down at the table. He supposed this was happening. “Are you a member of the White – “

“No. Apparently they don’t think I’m the most trustworthy person. And I’ve never cared much for philosophy.” He took the whispering kettle off the stove and set it on the special holder in the middle of the table. “Can’t say that they’re wrong about me.”

“But you know about them.” Matt corrected, “Us.”

“You’re not all grand spymasters,” Fury said. “About as secret as Skull and Bones. Plus, everybody over there,” he gestured with his head towards the portal, “knows about the White Lotus. If you know how to talk to them right, spirits can get really chatty. Know lots of interesting things. Gave me that pot, for example. It’s got a history.” Nick poured his own tea. “Go ahead. Look inside.”

“Um, Director Fury – “

“I know what I said.”

Using the end of a knife, Matt carefully removed the top and was greeted  by wisps of steam on his face, but not much else. He paused, and focused his sense. The pot was old, made of clay, but by someone who knew what  they were doing. It was glazed, but time had chipped away at it, and the wooden handle had been replaced several times. There was nothing inherently strange about it, but he couldn’t place the type of wood. He frowned, and clacked the knife against the table, creating about as clear a picture of the structure of the pot as sound waves would give him, beyond what he already got from ambient noise and the hum of the spirit portal.

He was blanking at what he was looking at, because it was so white –

Light. He was seeing light. Not quite with his eyes but ... he was _seeing_ it. That was why it took so long to register in his brain, because he wasn’t used to seeing things. That part of his brain was defunct. In the Spirit World he had that extra sense, and he could process that into light and colors, but he knew they were wrong, and that it was not sight, and yet, here it was.

He wanted to cry. His eyes still didn’t work, not in the sense that he wanted them to, but they could still tear up.

“That,” Fury explained, “is the leftover light from Raava, who once inhabited that pot.”

“I ...” He had no words. He didn’t want to cry in front of Nick Fury. “Raava’s the good one, right?”

“Do you think what you’re looking at is bad? Do you think it represents the spirit of darkness?” Fury asked, but he wasn’t really asking. He also wasn’t mocking Matt. His voice was just generally stern. “Why do you think your spirit feels so much better when you drink from it?”

Stick. Stick had been insisting he drink, over and over again, always from that pot. Not an insulated mug that didn’t need constant reheating.

“I don’t think we can wait any longer,” Stick said as he walked in, either oblivious to their conversation or not caring. Probably the latter. “This hideout is burned.”

“If they could get to Romanov, I’d be impressed,” Fury said.

“Foggy,” Matt said after a moment to steady himself, holding the kettle close to his chest.

“Not that he wouldn’t be happy to do anything for you right now,” Stick said with some amusement, “but he’s the weak link. Matty, we gotta go.”

Foggy. Yes. He’d sent him away. His thoughts were still jumbled. “Why does Izo want to kill you?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

“Izo said -,” It was all so hazy. “He said you wanted all the Black Skies together. But – “ It was hard to talk, still, with his senses all over the place, and Black Sky’s voice in his head, even if it wasn’t saying or thinking anything different from him. “But he’s the one doing that. So why did he let me go?”

“To get to me,” Stick explained. “And because he knows he can get you back.”

“No, no, I won’t – “

“He can control other Black Skies,” Stick said. “He doesn’t do it that often because he doesn’t want people to know he can do it, but he can. So when he needs you, he’ll call you back, and you’ll go. Everyone will go. Everyone in the Chaste will go. Everyone who didn’t want the training will go. Hell, people who don’t even know they’re Black Skies and have never met us will go.”

He felt the alarm, like a living thing stuck in his throat. “Juan.”

“You can’t protect him. I know you’ll spend the next few months thinking of ways, but you can’t. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

Matt balled up his fists. He wasn’t sure whom he was angry at, or if there was a focus to his anger at all. “But not you. He can’t get you.”

“Not something he needs to worry about if I’m dead.”

“How? How do you know you can resist him?”

Stick took the kettle out of Matt’s hands. “It’s complicated.”

“No. Tell me.” He didn’t want to be a pawn in a game between two cranky ninja masters, and he certainly wouldn’t stand for the same thing happening to Juan. And he’d already dragged in Foggy.

“Stick’s going to get help,” Fury said, “from the Avatar.”

“There’s an Avatar?”

“Yeah,” Stick said. “We just have to find him.”

**********************

Matt wanted to call Foggy. He wanted to call Juan, to warn him, but he couldn’t think of what he would say. Stick was no help with that.

“We _want_ to be together,” Stick said. “We want to be whole again. Vaatu sewed us together once and we want to go back to that.”

“Vaatu’s the bad guy, right?”

“C’mon, Matty, you’re smarter than this.” Stick took the phone right out of his hands. “You can’t protect him. All you’re going to do now is scare him.”

“Since when have you cared about scaring kids?”

Stick did chuckle at that. “Scared people make bad decisions.”

“Foggy can – “ Actually, he didn’t know what Foggy could do. Or what Foggy would try to do. Juan was his son, too. “Can we get the Avengers to help?”

“I’m sure they’ll try,” Stick replied. “Fury’ll rally them.”

“The White Lotus members won’t want to go up against Izo,” Fury pointed out. “That’s almost half the team.”

“Didn’t someone tell you? The White Lotus is a philosophical society.”

“Yet I’ve never heard you say a word of philosophy,” Fury said, and Matt wondered how long they’d known each other. He supposed they were the sort of people who might run into each other, the same way Stick might have run into Inna over the years. But they weren’t exactly old friends. They just had a common cause to unite them.

No one was particularly interested in enlightening Matt in anything he didn’t already know about. He had to ask, and his brain would lurch back and forth about talking or having any sense of the outside world. It was hard enough inside a sterile facility surrounded by snow, but his concentration bounced around, even when he meditated.

“It’s going to take time,” Stick said. “And we don’t have a lot of it.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer if we were apart? If I didn’t know where you were? You said Izo can control me.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Stick said. “And we need you.”

And Black Sky said, _Lie_.

**********************

Matt didn’t confront Stick about it. For once, he actually had someone to go to, someone who had some kind of ability to get Stick to open up to her, and to convey information between the two of them. So he confronted her in her room when she was packing.

“He’s lying,” Matt said. “He doesn’t really need me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need you here, but he wants you here. It’s different, but we both know he can’t admit that,” Inna explained, and Matt had to nod in response. “What Stick hasn’t told you is that however this ends, it ends in his death.”

“How?”

“He’s old, and he knows it. He’s not really strong enough to go up against Izo. Even if he wins, he can’t recover from what it will do to him. These are his last months, and he wants to spend them with you. He’ll make up any excuse in the world rather than admit it, but it’s the truth. Stick loves you more than he has ever loved anyone. So this is what he wants. Time with you.”

Matt swallowed. He knew she wasn’t lying, but it was hard to tell if that meant she was correct. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Does he love you?” Matt asked. “I know it’s really none of my business, but – “ But Black Widows were casual about love and hard on themselves. He could see where Nat got it, and he felt that he knew her as much as he could ever really know her.

“In his own way, yes, I think so,” she said, honest and bare, like Matt expected. “But whatever we could have been, our paths diverged too long ago for us to ever get back to it.”

“Was it because of you? That he fought with Izo?”

“You’re very perceptive. You would have made a good spy,” she told him. “Yes. It changed his entire path in life. People who knew him when he was younger say he never really recovered from it, but I think it made him stronger. But also harder.”

“Afraid to form attachments.” He knew that it had to be before Stick came to the orphanage, as much as he didn’t want to think about it. Nor did he have a real timeline for Stick’s romantic life.

“Yes, but don’t say that to him,” Inna said. “I know he doesn’t blame me, even if the Chaste members who know about it do. I bet the thought to do it has never crossed his mind.”

“But you still feel bad about it.”

She nodded. “Until now, I didn’t know the scope of it. Until I saw what Izo did to you. Loving Stick is a hard thing to  bear.”

He knew that, because he loved him, too. “I’ll go. But I have to know – is there really an Avatar?”

“There had better be,” Inna said, “or we’re all dead.”

**********************

They took Fury’s sky bison, because Nick Fury had a sky bison, of all things. It was big and fluffy and kind of grouchy, and it could fit a whole person in its mouth if it wanted to.

Matt didn’t like being up high in the air – it was cold and the smells came too fast for him to analyze them – but it was better than an airplane. “Where are we going?” His only guess was “South” because there was not much north left.

“The only place you can get bending outside of the Spirit World,” Stick said, raising his voice against the wind. “Ever been to Africa?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“First time for everything. That is, if you can keep up.” And without another word, Stick walked right off the saddle and let himself fall into the clouds.

“He took his glider, right?” Fury shouted from the front. “Shit. I bet he didn’t. Murdock, go get him.”

Matt had never jumped from this height before. He’d made leaps out of the Quinjet, but always during a mission, when he knew what was beneath him. But Inna just nudged him with the aluminum glider Stick left behind. “If you think his teaching is bad enough, you should try having him as a student.”

“Damnit,” he said under his breath and snapped the glider’s sails into the open position. The wind beneath him told him nothing about what below. They were too high, and they didn’t have time to go low. “Fuck you, Stick,” he said, and leapt off the bison.

He had to get clear of it to find his own space in the wind. Fully extended, the glider brought him soaring up at a near-uncontrollable pace, at the mercy of the cross-currents, but it gave him time to calm down and find his balance. Gliding was more about balance than bending. It was too dangerous for a dive when he couldn’t scope the distance, so he circled instead, like the most gentle spiral staircase, until he got a blast of wind that was full of salt and nothing else and he knew he was above an ocean.

Water. A safe place to land. Especially for a waterbender.

“Took you long enough,” Stick said when Matt landed on the island of ice Stick had created for himself in the otherwise open seas. “You know more airbending than you use, because you weren’t born a bender and you haven’t been able to advance without a real teacher. It takes a long time to break the habit of being restricted by gravity.”

“Is that what you learned in Tibet?”

“Lama Migyur isn’t just a master bender. He’s become entirely detached from the world. He can fly.” Stick added, “Which I still can’t fucking do. Had too many attachments.”

Matt didn’t have to wonder what those attachments were, though neither of them would say it out loud. It’s not like he owned a lot of _stuff_.

“You,” Stick said, eager to take the spotlight off of himself, “are being held back by your fears.”

“I know you’ve been off the grid for a few years, but they do call me – “

“The Man without Fear.” Stick laughed. “What a load of horseshit.”

“I was jumping off buildings before I was an airbender, Stick.”

“That’s not the kind of fear I’m talking about. Airbending is the bending type that requires the deepest spiritual connection to master. Air nomads roam because they’re unattached. Because it’s the element of freedom. If you want to harmonize with your Black Sky, you have to let go of your fears. The ones you won’t talk about – even with yourself.” He stepped back, taking the expanding ice with him, to create a pathway for Matt. “Now get up back up there and tell Fury to come get me. I don’t have wings.”

Matt snapped open the glider but said, “How did you convince Director Fury to put up with you?”

“I know how to make myself indispensable.” 

**********************

Howard (the sky bison) needed to rest and eat lots of grass and hay, so they stopped in what Fury informed them was Norway. Matt had only the smell of grass and the strong winds whispering their way through the different cliffs around them to tell where he was, along with the waves far beneath them crashing into the shore with more force than the Hudson River ever had. As Fury and Inna went for supplies, Stick sat down with Matt in the tall grass.

“There’s energy inside you,” Stick said, “pulsing from the top of your head to your bottom, and spreading outward from there. The points where the energy congregates along the way are known as chakras. When they’re locked, the energy doesn’t flow. When you open them, an ordinary person can become stronger. You can tap into your Black Sky, sharing its inherent power. The Avatar taps into Raava, the spirit of Light, and that power is unlimited. But it’s a difficult state to maintain. It requires perfect concentration. You have to abandon all distractions, the good and the bad. Your life. Your loved ones. Everything in the physical world holds you back.”

“I don’t want to give up my loved ones.”

“I’m not asking you to be a monk,” Stick said. “I was never a very good one myself. The best you can achieve is only a very partial, temporary state, but in that state, you’re as one with Black Sky as you’re ever going to be.”

That did sound very attractive to Matt. His hands shook with anticipation, the opposite of what he wanted them to do.

“Lama Migyur never taught me any actual airbending,” Stick told him. “Not in the three years I spent with him. We never even discussed it except when I brought it up. He knew that it would come to me, or it wouldn’t. He could put the pieces of me together another way. He knew what I needed.”

“And you know what I need?”

“You aren’t the fuckin’ puzzle you think you are,” Stick said, chuckling. “What are you really afraid of? What’s really holding you back? And don’t give me the easy answers, like death, or losing Juan, or Foggy, or anyone else you love. That’s fear of failure, but it wouldn’t stop you from trying to save them.”

Matt sat on the thought for a moment, and then said, “Damnation?”

“What would you be damned for?”

Stick phrased it like an honest question, but Matt knew better, especially with his Black Sky saying, _Don’t answer don’t answer don’t tell him_. “For the bad things I’ve done. B-But I repented, and I was forgiven.”

Stick listened to something – possibly Matt’s heart, or his Black Sky in some way Matt couldn’t comprehend – and said, “You really believe that.”

“Yes.” He’d fought long and hard to will himself to believe it. “It’s hard to accept G-d’s Grace, but it’s possible.”

“So what is it? What’s your big fear?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, you don’t want to know,” Stick replied. “It’s different.”

Matt closed his eyes and tried focus, but the only thing that came to mind was how much he wanted to punch Stick. “It’s not that easy!”

“Not when you give up immediately,” Stick said, brimming with impatience as he stood up and picked up his cane. “If you’re going to pussy out on one thing in your life, I wouldn’t make it this.”

“Fuck you!” he said, even though it came out before he could think about saying it, and how much he didn’t really want to say it. But Stick didn’t seem to mind. He was almost amused as he walked off, abandoning Matt on the cliff’s edge.

_Loving Stick_ , Inna had said, _is a hard thing to bear_.


	8. Into the Jungle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Another awful week. I rushed the post date since I'm busy over the weekend. Enjoy, and comment if you like!

They stopped again in France. Howard wasn’t the fastest way to travel, but he was worlds better than an airplane. They stayed over water because they were less likely to be seen, combined with all of Fury’s signal-jamming hardware making almost invisible. Only Fury had direct contacts with the outside world, as Stick and Matt needed to stay hidden, and Inna had no one she needed to reach. She didn’t offer to explain who she was, or her history with Stick, and Matt didn’t ask. Neither of them were the type of people used to spilling secrets. He sometimes had trouble getting things out of Natasha, and he’d known/been sleeping with her for years. Matt figured she wasn’t in love with Stick, or he with her, but they were together in some fashion that they both believed was going to end soon, because of the battle with Izo.

Matt didn’t want to think about Stick dying, or what could have been. He also didn’t want to think about his meditation assignments, as Black Sky fought them with all of its might. He could only focus for fits and spurts, even in the quiet coastal countryside, away from any electronic distractions. He had time, as Stick spent a lot of time with Inna practicing waterbending, and Fury was the one to go out and get supplies and make contacts for them, but sitting quietly just made Matt tired and frustrated, his breathing interrupted by plumes of pain when he unexpectedly lurched out of sync with Black Sky again, like an irregular tremor under his skin. He never knew when it was coming. It would wake him out of sleep and he couldn’t breathe at first as he scrambled around, looking for his Black Sky, as if it were capable of going somewhere without him.

“Easy, kid,” Stick would say, because Stick was always around when this happened, even if he had been sleeping somewhere else, in a different tent or hostel. And he would make him drink cup after cup of tea.

“Can you see the light?” Matt asked when he’d calmed down.

Stick laughed. “And here I thought you might have gotten to know me.”

Matt picked the kettle out of Stick’s hands and held it up in front of his face. “There’s light. It’s white and I can see it. Not – not with my eyes, I don’t think. It’s the first thing I’ve seen in thirty years.”

“You seeing anything else?”

“No. Nothing. Just ...” He didn’t care to look at it too often, reminding him of what he didn’t have. “I didn’t even realize it at first. I didn’t remember what light was.”

And then he realized that Stick had never seen light.

“Maybe you just don’t know that you’re seeing it,” Matt insisted. “Your brain – it doesn’t know what to do with it. Like when I’m in the Spirit World and I have an experience I can’t really process – “

“I understand the Spirit World better than you ever will,” Stick said, his voice harsh, his Black Sky present and snarling and saying 'Back Off' without words. Stick didn’t admit to weaknesses. He didn’t admit to shortcomings. He didn’t make excuses for what he lacked.

“Yeah, okay.” Matt backed off, however unconvincingly, and handed the kettle back to Stick. “I guess I don’t.”

Stick wouldn’t believe the lie, but he didn’t comment on it, either.

**********************

At the stop on the Portuguese coast, Nick gave Matt a braille touchpad and let him catch up on his messages. Foggy was doing better, according to Natasha, who got it from Marci, who was a reliable enough source. Also, she was very mad at him. He wasn’t surprised. They were keeping up the pretense that he was out on some Daredevil mission until Juan came home from summer camp, which would be soon. He ached to ask more questions, but he kept himself (and his Black Sky) in check. He’d done enough damage to the Nelson-Stahl marriage already. He held off for a few unproductive days of failed mediation sessions, then called her. She was ticked off, as she deserved to be, but yes, she would take Juan, and sounded insulted in the implication that she wouldn’t. Foggy’s instincts had been right about her; she would make a good mom.

Foggy hadn’t given up the secret of Black Sky, even though Matt had given him permission, and that couldn’t be done over even the most secure line, not while his own Black Sky was still hurting, so he put off that discussion, too. He felt like he was stalling, but he didn’t know for what.

“Let yourself rest.” It was Inna who told him this, not Stick, because Stick was deep in meditation at the time. “You can’t solve all the problems in the world.”

It occurred to him that she didn’t sound anything like Natasha, even though she very much moved and acted like her. She didn’t hide her accent, but she was also older, and Natasha had described her as a teacher, so maybe she’d never done field work. She was softer. He didn’t have Natasha’s clipped  tone, or any of the anxieties that kept Natasha Romanov on her perpetual guard, even after all these years of diplomatic immunity that came with current Avenger membership.

“Stick thinks he can,” Matt said.

“Maybe,” she replied. “But not without us.”

“He says I’m just going to fight him, anyway. Izo’s going to take control of me and I’m going to try to destroy him. He doesn’t think I can resist it.”

“Fighting is not the kind of help he needs from you.”

“He hasn’t been very specific about what he _does_ need.”

Inna sighed. “When he does ask for something, trust me, he will be very specific.”

**********************

On the Southern coast of Spain, their last stop on the European mainland, Matt said, “I want to go to church.”

Stick had no reaction at all, but Fury cocked his head, and Matt could guess at the expression of his face. “If you’re under the impression that this is some kind of pleasure trip – “

“I need to hear Mass. And if Izo has bothered to have spies hiding out in Catholic churches in Spain, then he basically deserves to find us,” Matt said, prepared for this argument.

“I’ll take him,” Inna said to Fury, gently putting her arm on Matt’s. “I speak better Spanish than you, and I’ll blend in better.” To Fury’s hesitation, she added an edge to her voice. “I’ve hidden in different continents for years, _Director_.”

From his position of leaning his body against Howard’s soft fur, Stick chuckled.

“Fine,” Fury said. “But in and out. No small talk.”

Matt didn’t know who he would make small talk with, but he didn’t argue with Fury. He didn’t have any good clothes, but it was okay to look like a backpacking tourist, and he could pass for sighted, which would make him less of an attention draw.

On Sunday, they found a Catholic church easily enough, where everyone was too busy gathering for the service to make much of the two tourists joining their ranks. Even though Spain’s Spanish was different from Matt’s Spanish, which was heavily influenced by Mexico and Puerto Rico, he would have understood the Mass in just about any language. The beats were all the same. Even the church, made of stone and slightly dusty, had a familiar smell of incense and the burning tips of candles for the dead. There was a higher-quality wine in the chalice, and the priest had a reedy voice, but the people around Matt and Inna were the same – the old, the pious, and their impatient children.

Black Sky liked church. Matt could tell now, but he supposed if Black Sky had ever hated it, he wouldn’t like it so much, either. It didn’t understand it, nor made much of an attempt to understand human rituals, but it felt as if it hummed along with Matt’s brain, since they were both equally familiar with all of it.

Mass was – Matt was pretty sure – one of his first memories of the monastery at St. John’s. He remembered the sitting on the hard wooden bench in the back as the monks sang, and feeling that their voices were so unbearably loud even though they were no choir, because it was the most noise he had to deal with all day, before he retreated to his room. They weren’t speaking to him but they all knew he was there, and they weren’t frightened of him, even though they should have been.

Back in Spain, the puffy priest in ancient but well-preserved robes raised the Host, and Matt knew exactly what he was afraid of.

**********************

The air became unbearably dry as they passed into Africa. There were stretches of desert, which Fury strategically chose to avoid detection, and even far up in the air they couldn’t avoid the sand in their eyes and mouths and hair. Howard didn’t care for it much either, and he was far less grumpy when they passed into a land of plains, with trees and water and the sounds of animals that had filled Matt’s zoo books when he was a kid and printed books mattered to him. He felt embarrassed that he didn’t even know what country they were in at their final pit stop, and was too embarrassed to ask. Wide-open fields were boring to his senses, giving them nothing to latch onto onto, and his mind made a blank canvas with only the sun (which was very detectable) to guide his direction.

The WiFi was spotty, even with all of Fury’s technology. “Where we’re going, it’ll get better.” But he handed the touchpad over anyway, and the magnetized filaments sprung up to meet Matt’s fingers and form dots for him.

Matt read his emails. Juan was back in New York, at Foggy and Marci’s apartment, and Natasha was keeping a very careful guard on all of them, despite the lack of open threats. Matt supposed she said that to make him feel better; it didn’t. “I need to talk to my son.”

“The encryptions should hold up, but it’s a risk.”

“No,” Matt said, handing the pad back to him now that he was finished typing. “That’s not what I meant.”

**********************

Natasha gets his message while he’s asleep and it’s there for him in the morning. She’ll guide Juan into the Spirit World, because he doesn’t like the idea of Juan going in alone and because it already bothers him how naturally easily Juan can hop in and out of it, thanks perhaps to his unusually active connection to his Black Sky. Officially, house rules were that the Spirit World was off-limits without a guide, but Juan was a teenager. It was like asking him not to use the internet.

Natasha was there first, when Matt’s mind abandoned the weedy ground beneath him for the lush, incomprehensible surface of the Spirit World. “How are you?” she asked before he could speak.

“Okay,” he lied. “I suppose I shouldn’t tell you anything else.”

“You shouldn’t. I’m being updated.”

“How’s Foggy?”

“Better. A lot better. If it’s safe, you should be able to speak to him soon.”

“And Marci?”

“You probably want to make peace with the fact that she’ll be bringing this up for years,” Natasha said. “Here comes Juan. Don’t take too long. You’re not aware of your body and neither is he.”

“I know. Thank you – “

But Natasha was already gone, and in her place, sitting directly across from him, was Juan.

“Hey Dad.”

Matt had never seen Juan in the Spirit World before, and had the unexpected shock of seeing him – not with his eyes, never with his eyes, but with the additional sense he gained there, that could determine things about a person that he could never sense in the Material World. “Juan.” Juan was so _big_ – had he just grown so much in the summer? Or was it that Matt was used to holding and hugging the younger version, the one who needed the physical comfort of his father more than the teenager? Juan was still small for his age, but he was gaining on Matt fast. His fair was longer, coming down around his ears, when he used to keep it so short. “Hey.”

Hugging wasn’t quite the same. It wasn’t like two physical bodies being pressed together, even though there was the impression of that, but it was phantom. But Juan felt like Juan more than he ever had. “ _Hey_ ,” Matt repeated numbly, trying to hold back his emotion, and knowing it would be a fruitless endeavor.

“Can you see me?”

“I – can’t really describe it,” he said. “I get more information.” For example, in Juan’s case, Matt could see Juan’s Black Sky ghosting in and out of Juan’s form, poking out of the edges. It didn’t look like him, but it had a sort of head and arms that could emerge from Juan’s head and hover over it, even if the arms were far too long for a human and a little translucent. Matt wondered if Juan was seeing the same thing in Matt. “I’m sorry about going away. I can’t tell you where I am, or who I’m with.”

Juan nodded. His Black Sky – Pio, Matt supposed, since Juan had given it a name – almost nodded in agreement, but some of its nerves boiled over the surface. “When are you coming back?”

“Soon,” he said. “Does Pio know what Harmonic Convergence is?”

“No,” Juan replied. “I think it’s too human a term.”

“It’s when, uh, we’re all going to want to come together. All of the Black Skies. We did it before, a long time ago.”

Pio darkened, if Matt could discern light from dark (he really couldn’t), and his edges grew sharp and threatening and his long fingers curled into claws, but Juan looked unalarmed, and mostly confused. “Pio can’t explain it to me.”

Matt’s Black Sky hadn’t even tried. “It’s what made the Black Skies in the first place, the first Harmonic Convergence. There’s another one coming up, and I’ve been told we’re going to want to unify again. And that we can’t fight it. I’ll come find you, okay? We’ll have each other. No one can separate us.”

Pio seemed to calm down a bit, retreating back into Juan. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He was glad he could say this without lying. “I’m very sure.”

Juan broke away from him and squirmed. “Pio wants to talk to you.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Can he do it?”

“Not, um, you.” He pointed, and even though he was pointing in Matt’s direction, he wasn’t pointing at Matt.

“Oh.” Should he do this? Would Pio and Juan learn something he wasn’t supposed to share? Would they see the condition he was in? “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“You let Uncle Foggy touch him.”

“That – that was an accident,” Matt insisted. “I wasn’t myself, or I would never have done that. It twisted him. Black Sky had too much influence over him. That’s why we have to be apart. Even if I weren’t on this mission, I would still have to stay away from Foggy for some time. Promise me you won’t ever do that, okay? It’s not fair to them. People who aren’t Black Skies.”

“Dad – “

“Promise me right now.” He made it sound like the order it was.

“I promise,” Juan conceded. “I just – wanna know if you’re okay.”

Matt took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure how to let his Black Sky do what it wanted, or if it was wise. Stick would probably say it wasn’t, but Stick wasn’t here, and Juan _wanted_ this. Matt tilted his head back and relaxed his body and said _Go_ , and Black Sky went, emerging early from his pores, just more of a vague impression of a head and outstretched arms forever growing in length until they touched Pio. They didn’t connect like two humans in solid bodies, or mix like two gusts of air. Their coming together was more like a hemline being repaired; they felt sewed on the edges.

Neither Matt nor Juan could talk. Their Black Skies weren’t quite doing it either, but they had totally taken over the information exchange, even if it wasn’t in words. Matt was only vaguely aware that it felt like not a union but a _re_ union. They had been like this before, and they knew they would be like this again, and when the Black Skies retreated, they were relieved, like old friends finishing a conversation.

Since neither Matt nor Juan had much energy, they laid down on the grass, looking up at a night sky with indefinable color. Actually, they couldn’t even tell if it was night.

At last, Matt managed to string together some words. “At the last Harmonic Convergence, Vaatu corrupted spirits to bring them to our world, then sewed them together to make a giant being so big it blocked the sun in the sky. Or, that’s the kind of nonsense people like Stick and Izo say.”

“But it’s not nonsense,” Juan said. It wasn’t a challenge; it was a statement of a fact.

“Stick says we’re not even going to fight it.”

“I don’t want to fight it.”

“I know.” He was sure that he had never been closer to understanding what Juan was thinking. “But we have to try.”

**********************

Back in Africa, there was a delay in their takeoff, even though Howard was rested and ready. Matt asked what they were waiting for.

“Cloud cover,” Fury explained. They waited out the day, until the air grew uncomfortable with moisture, and Matt could hear lightning strike the tress in the distance.

Both waterbenders and airbenders had some control over clouds, which were just patches of frozen moisture in the air. Matt had never tandem-bended with Inna before, and Stick, who was busy redirecting the lightning around them, had no patience for anyone slow to pick up a bending technique. Fury had a tablet on his lap that was perpetually going off in a series of small alarms, but he didn’t explain what he was listening for. It was probably incredibly technical, and he was the one to steer Howard.

Below them were the sounds of human suffering. There was some kind of border clash. Matt was too far up and too busy bending the air around him to smell or sense any of it, but he could hear the pops of automatic gunfire and the cries of people fleeing. He didn’t know what conflict it was or why it was happening, and the others were too mission-focused to explain it to him.

Matt was stiff and sore from the cold and the perpetual work of controlling the gusts around him when he felt something go through him, or rather his body went through something porous and empty, but with a heavy electrical charge, and not one that Stick could lightening-bend away. There was a heavy crack as the static stiffened Howard’s fur and he moaned with surprise.

Just about every electronic device Fury had on him was going off. “That was their border shield. Hold on to something other than air!”

Howard’s howl drowned out most of the surrounding noise, and between that and the near-tornado speed tunnel of wind they’d formed around him Matt couldn’t make out much, except that at some point, Stick grabbed the glider and took off ahead of them. By the time Howard hit ground, all six of his padded feet digging into the soft dirt and making quite a landing strip of the area, they were well beyond the border and the fighting, having landed on a high plateau. Aside from a few trees, there was nothing around them for Matt to use to get a sense of his surroundings except Stick up ahead, on the ground and talking to a much larger man also carrying a gigantic sttaff. The man was about a head higher than Stick.

The man waved at them and shouted something at Fury that sounded welcoming enough, but in a language totally foreign to Matt. He leapt off the sky bison, finding unsteady footing on the ground but very happy to be there.

Stick and the staff man kept talking in whatever the native language was as Inna and Fury soothed Howard’s rattled nerves, and it wasn’t long before a jeep appeared from around the bend, having taken what was probably a winding and dangerous dirt road to get up here. It had a female driver with a shaved head behind the wheel, and a man next to her who climbed out and gestured for the other man to stop mid-bow.

He didn’t seem familiar, but his voice was distinct enough that Matt could recognize it just from Avengers’ new conferences. King T’Challa looked at Stick, then the situation with the newcomers hovering around the massive sky bison, and said, “Welcome to Wakanda.”


	9. The Spirit Grove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of a problem with Zuri. Canonically, Zuri carries a huge spear everywhere, even when he's in Harlem, so that was originally in the story. Right before posting I decided to change it to a staff because it's, well, awful. I assume they'll cut it from the Black Panther movie. 
> 
> Even though the character in the comics is all muscles, Forest Whitaker will be playing Zuri in the movie.
> 
> The Spirit Grove was inspired by the spirit groves that appear in both Avatar: The Last Airbender and the spin-off comics. Spirits tend to be found in forested areas with water. I don't know why that is.

The man with the wooden staff was named Zuri. He had fought alongside the previous king, T’Chaka, and was now advisor to the son. He and Stick talked like old friends and he seemed familiar with Fury. There was some sorting out of names and identities – Zuri was not White Lotus, but T’Chaka had been, and T’Chaka been on the mission in San Francisco with Carter, Stark, Pym, and Izo – and his young apprentice, Stick. Zuri deferred to his king, who was expecting them.

Matt had worked with Black Panther twice over the years, but only as Daredevil, and he didn’t want to throw unnecessary information into the mix, so he politely shook the king’s hand and introduced himself as Matt. “Your Highness.”

“We need access to the Spirit Grove,” Stick said when he switched back to English. “But we also need to keep this under the table. Especially from the White Lotus.”

“My father fought by your side,” T’Challa said, “but did he trust you?”

“No, he was too smart for that,” Stick replied. “But he felt the same way about Izo.”

T’Challa seemed like the kind of guy who took things super seriously. Maybe it came with being king of a rich nation at war with its neighbors. “I don’t know Master Izo well, but I’ve heard stories.”

“He doesn’t travel much,” Fury explained. “Right now he’s gathering his forces in Asia. If that changes, we’ll know.”

T’Challa nodded. “The Spirit Grove is not just for the people of Wakanda. It’s for anyone seeking refuge. I don’t have the right to close it off to anyone.” He was looking at Stick again. His body was tense, probably with some suspicion, despite the best of intentions. Stick was a dangerous person to know, and he didn’t pretend to be otherwise. “Zuri will take you there. If you need anything during your stay, we are at your disposal.”

That sounded pretty impressive, especially coming from one of the most technologically advanced countries in the world, but Stick refused to be impressed. “We’ll let you know.”

**********************

Wakanda had many microclimates, as Zuri explained to them after boarding Howard. There were humid, marshy jungles and wide-open stretches of dry plains, some of them the result of reforestation by colonial forces before Wakanda closed the country off to foreigners, some of it from years of strife with the neighboring country Niganda. Matt didn’t know much about Wakanda, except that it was the source of the world’s vibranium, and it was entirely unwilling to officially trade it, making Captain America’s shield a very valuable piece of metal. The Black Panther suit, made of almost pure vibranium from top to bottom, was worth the fortune of a large country.

But Matt didn’t bring that up. “Is there a portal at the Spirit Grove?”

“No,” Zuri told him. “It’s a place that has an usually strong bond with the Spirit World without a direct connection. For millennia, people have come to seek its wisdom, but few have found what they were looking for. If it’s power you want, you should look elsewhere.”

“But there’s bending,” Stick said.

“It depends what you want to use it for. As I’m sure you know, _Stick_.” He said his name in a peculiar way. It was not a confrontational tone, but it made Matt sure that Zuri knew much more about their mission – or Stick’s mission – than he was saying.

To this, Stick said nothing.

They flew over deep jungle, enough that Matt could get the heavy scents from the air above. Howard, now being steered by Zuri alone, took some odd turns around a mountain, dipping into different openings in the mountainsides that Matt couldn’t sense, even with all the greenery and the noise of the jungle giving him some orientation. They went in what Matt was sure was circles many times, until at last Zuri said, “The Spirit Grove welcomes you.”

Howard ducked under the canopy and through a long tunnel full of weeds and undisturbed moss to emerge on the other end into somewhere wholly different from what they had left. The air was purer and stiller, free from the more noxious elements of the jungle. It was less humid, but not dry. There was only the most gentle of breezes, and the animal sounds were restricted to small animals, some only in the distance.

Zuri set Howard down near the entrance, in front of a series of shallow pools, some connected, some not. Their original source was unclear. The rest of the grass was exceptionally soft, almost like it wasn’t real.

Without explaining anything, Zuri immediately went about unpacking the tents T’Challa had brought with him in his jeep. They popped up when he activated his keypad. Matt suppressed a groan; he hadn’t realized until now how badly he wanted to get back to civilization, if just for a few hours. Even an inn would have been fine.

Zuri seemed to know anyway. “Wakanda offers many technological advances to see to the comfort of its guests. Please – rest and relax before beginning the task ahead of you.” He gestured to one of the tents, and Matt decided not to resist. He’d spent more time traveling in the last two weeks than he had in his entire life, even if the distance wasn’t the same as some plane trips.

It wasn’t really a tent, not on the Boy Scout sort of way. It was made from a rigid but collapsible plastic he’d never encountered before. When he knocked against the wall it made almost no sound, but after a few tries there were enough sound waves for him to map the room. The twin bed folded into the wall, and included a folding chair (with cushions) and a desk extension that was easy to pull out. On the other side was a rectangular stall, and inside, a showerhead and toilet. There were all of the essentials of a hotel in a bag beneath it – shampoo, towels, and a change of clothes that were more African-weather appropriate than his beaten sweats. There were even flip flops, and a minibar, with a braille label that read, “No charge.”

“Damn,” he said, unable to restrain himself from cursing in what must have been a holy place. “Thank you, Mr. Zuri.”

“I am at your disposal.”

The others were talking to Zuri about this and that, but Matt tuned them out. He didn’t know how badly he wanted to shower until he was fully in it, which was entirely different from bathing in the ocean, which had served its purpose up to this point, but now he couldn’t fathom how he had stood it. Even the water pressure was good, and he stood under it what was probably far too long, scrubbing his hair (on the long side) and beard (unusually unkempt, even for him). He thought about trimming or shaving it, but he was too tired. The shower blasted him with hot air to do the bulk of the drying before he wrapped himself in towels, put on clean pants made of a fiber he couldn’t identify, and sunk into the comfy mattress.

His last thought before he drifted off was how Stick probably hated it, and hated Matt for giving in to it, and it made him smile.

**********************

The Spirit Grove wasn’t big, but it was a bit difficult for Matt to get the lay of the land. He had trouble with water – he wasn’t a great swimmer because he didn’t like losing his sense of smell, and he could never quite make out what was under the surface without putting himself in it. It took him a couple walks around to figure out how many pools there were, but it still stumped him. Finally Inna sat down and drew the layout in the dirt – circles upon circles, with one giant circle that served as a moat, encompassing all of them. In the middle was the largest one, with a small island inside that, big enough for two or three people to sit on. None of this would occur in nature; he knew that much.

“In mysticism, sacred spaces often have geometric forms,” she told him. “Sometimes they just represent the mental path the practitioner must travel on to get to the center.”

“What’s at the center?”

“Well, in paintings and carvings, usually Enlightenment,” she said, sounding a bit skeptical herself. “But they’re also centers of power. The outer layers guard the inner layers. In Buddhist tradition it’s called a mandala.”

“But I could get to the center. I could just walk there.” Currently, Stick was in the center, meditating on the island.

“Usually it’s more of a metaphor,” Inna said. “This place has a strong bond with the Spirit World, and you know how confusing that can be. And how different spirits can be.”

He unconsciously put his hand on his chest. “Yeah, I know that.”

He knew it was a strange place, where noises that logically should have penetrated the trees did not, even when the wind did. His Black Sky knew that, too. Matt wasn’t used to talking to it – or, more precisely, having it talk to _him_ , even when it wasn’t always clear words. But he didn’t try to stop it. He wanted that connection. He couldn’t push his Black Sky away from him, especially not now, when they still didn’t sit quite right with each other.

Stick didn’t ask anything of him. Stick was busy with Inna, trying to keep up with her waterbending lessons. He’d never known Stick to be nervous about a fight, or to _lose_ a fight, but Stick didn’t act nervous. He just acted like Stick. He practiced, he told Matt to shut up and meditate, and he occasionally shoved him in the water for the fun of it.

Zuri returned on the third day and watched Stick’s waterbending practice from afar with a certain intensity that made Matt take notice. Afterwards all he said to Inna was, “Is he good enough?”

“He’s not a master,” she said, well within Stick’s hearing range. “But there’s no more time.”

“Hmph.” Zuri handed his staff to Matt – as if he would know what to do with it – and stepped into the outer ring, but as he walked, the earth rose up to greet his feet so he wouldn’t get wet, then dropped when he passed. So, he was earthbender. Considering how _solid_ he was, Matt wasn’t too surprised.

Stick retrieved the clay kettle from the camp and followed Inna and Zuri to the center, where Zuri sunk down and they stood with the water up to their chests before the little island Stick liked to meditate on. Matt followed them, but from a distance. He wasn’t invited, but he wasn’t uninvited. Stick had asked him to be here on this journey for _something_.

They waited a few moments at the center, long enough for Matt to sense the wake Stick was leaving in the water because his hands were shaking, and then the island in front of him began to move. It rose, actually, straight up in the air, splashing the water around it with claws that acted more like flippers.

It was a lion turtle. Not in the Spirit World, but here on earth, in Wakanda, was a tiny lion turtle, about the size of a small car rather than a stadium. Its back was covered in plants that needed stillness to grow, so it must not move all that much. Matt didn’t know if it was young or that was just its size. He really didn’t know all that much about lion turtles, and his senses were more limited in this world. He could only tell that it had stopped rising when it was about eye-level with the group in front of it.

Zuri bowed to it and said something in Wakandan. Stick was holding the kettle close to his chest. The lion turtle was slow moving, but it raised one claw and touched two of its nails to Stick’s head and chest. Stick’s Black Sky flared so hard Matt could sense it.

Lion turtles never seemed to give much of a shit about humans, and this one sunk back into the water without saying anything while Stick crumpled and was caught by Zuri while Inna grabbed the pot. Matt wondered if he should do something, and as they carried Stick back to the shore, he grabbed a blanket from his tent. He rolled it up and set it under Stick’s head as Zuri said him on the glass and Inna waterbended his soaked clothing into a dry state.

“Is he okay?” Matt felt a little annoyed at being left out of all this. He rested a hand on Stick’s shoulder, but the old man just appeared to be in a very deep sleep.

“Humans aren’t supposed to carry more than one element,” Zuri explained. “Especially not all four.”

“His Black Sky is carrying the others.”

“He’s supposed to master them,” Zuri said. “One by one.”

“There isn’t time,” Inna said, running a floating ball of water up and down Stick. “He just needs rest. The lion turtle wouldn’t have given it to him if it was going to kill him.”

“They don’t think like us,” Zuri replied. “But it doesn’t matter. Stick has chosen his path.” He picked up the spear now discarded near the tents. “I’ll be back when he’s ready. Which will not be as soon as he thinks.”

Matt wondered when that was.

**********************

Stick was truly out for a full day, so much so that Matt was worried about him despite Inna’s assurances as a healer. He couldn’t even remember seeing Stick sleep at all, much less like a stone, so he pulled up a folding chair and sat next to him in Stick’s tent, ready with tea from Raava’s pot. Every once in a while his own Black Sky would sort of reach out, not quite the way it had in the Spirit World with Juan’s but in a muted, similar way, and try to communicate with Stick’s, but get nothing.

He fell asleep in the chair a few times, but when Stick actually woke it was when Matt was praying, of all things, saying the rosary. He flinched and waited for Stick to strike him, but Stick did nothing of the sort, and if Stick weren’t blind, Matt would be sure that he was just staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

He put the kettle on the electric pan. Wakandan technology was so convenient. It worked instantaneously, and Matt lifted Stick by the shoulders into a sitting position and poured him a fresh cup of tea. “Come on.” He put the cup in his hands, and when Stick did nothing with it, put it up to his lips. “You know what to do.”

Finally, Stick grabbed the cup right out of his hands before drinking a single drop, downed it at once, nearly coughed it up, and held the cup out in front of him. “More.”

He needed more than tea, but Matt took this to be a good sign. “Okay.” Even though the tea was probably scalding, Stick drank cup after cup, and seemed disappointed after each long gulp. He swung his legs over the side of the cot, but stopped there, unable to move forward with his plans to be more mobile.

“Inna said you should take it easy,” Matt said, hoping Stick would listen to _her_ advice.

“Where’s Zuri?” Stick demanded with his usual impatience, but a lot of the fire was out of his voice.

“He said he’ll be back when you’re ready, and it’s not going to be as soon as you want it to be,” Matt said, and Stick scoffed. Matt knew better than to get in Stick’s way, but he also knew Stick couldn’t stand on his own, at least not yet, but would never admit it. “Are you hungry?” Stick didn’t answer. Fine. “Can I get you anything?”

“There’s beer in the fridge,” Stick mumbled, holding his head up with his hand. “I put in a special request.”

He was right, but it was cheap stuff, some imported brand from a massive distillery in America. Matt didn’t know if Wakandans had their own favorite type of alcohol, or of this was a dry country. And then he realized this was the first time he’d seen Stick with alcohol since he woke up in the North Pole.

“I’m not supposed to drink,” Stick said as Matt opened the bottle and handled it to him. His speech was slurred from exhaustion. “No intoxicants.”

“You actually saw a doctor?”

“Not doctor. Vow.” But he took a long swig anyway. “Everyone cheats a little.”

It was obviously a new vow; Matt knew better than to ask about it. “You know you’re dehydrated.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“You’re not going back to sleep until you eat something.” But it felt really, really good to hear Stick say something that made him sound like ... Stick.

Matt roused Inna, and they got some soup in Stick, and Inna checked him again with her waterbending, and he was out before his head hit the pillow.

**********************

With Stick out of commission, Matt had a lot of time on his hands. He still couldn’t meditate properly. At best he would exhaust himself in the effort and nod off, and Stick was still strong enough to whack him on the head when he did.

“You’re not trying,” Stick said, slipping into the shallow pool next to Matt’s perch. Even when Inna wasn’t using it to heal him, he obviously found it refreshing.

“I am trying.”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Stick corrected. He snapped his fingers a few times, sounding a bit like he was trying to flip a lighter. “Damn. Still burned out.” He was trying to summon a flame, but his body gave him nothing.

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” Matt said.

“I know the difference.” But Stick was frustrated with his own inability to progress. He just wouldn’t admit to it. “I need time. You need courage.”

“It’s my Black Sky. I still can’t – we can’t connect.”

“And I told you how to fix that. But you’re afraid to do it. I don’t remember training such a pansy.”

Matt gave an exaggerated sigh. “Can you be a little more specific?”

“Fine, you’re a _fucking_ pansy.”

“And here I thought Tibet might have changed you,” Matt said. “Meditating is more than just sitting here, but it’s all you’ve ever taught me to do.”

Stick paddled around in the water, readjusting his body across the surface. “Fine. Straighten up.”

Matt took a deep breath and did so.

“No, don’t hold it. Let it flow,” Stick said. “Now, Lama Migyur would tell me to picture things. A very basic technique.”

“And what did you say to that?”

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He told me to imagine a rainbow bursting out of his head. Do you know what a rainbow looks like?”

“I remember, yeah.”

“Well I have no fucking idea. But he didn’t change his script on me. Because it’s not really about the rainbow. It’s about the state you need to be in to make a rainbow come out of your head. Which I did.” He added, “Eventually.”

“What did it look like?”

“What makes you think I know? And he didn’t tell me. The rainbow mind is a state of Enlightenment where you’re at peace with yourself. If you’re at peace with yourself, and you’re at peace with reality, then you realize reality is subjective, and if you want a rainbow to come out of your head, then it happens.” He swam to the other side of the pond very slowly. It was only a few feet, but it was still a lot of activity for his body. “You know exactly what’s holding you back. Despite what I might have said many times, you’re not a moron. But it’s a part of you, like everything else. You are the sum of your experiences. And if you don’t get past them, that’s all you’ll ever be. And that’s no help to anyone.”

“I repented,” Matt said. “I was forgiven. If I go to Hell, it’s for something else.”

“Those nuns got you all mixed up.”

“Don’t insult the nuns.”

Stick ignored him, as Matt expected he would. “You shouldn’t be worrying about the future. You should be worrying about the present. You can’t allow anything to have power over you.” He shuffled back to Matt’s side of the shore. “Don’t waste your energy acting like you’re not scared. I’m not going to fall for that.”

“I’m not a monster,” Matt said, this time out loud, but over the years he had said it to himself, many times, silently or under his breath.

“But you were and you could be again.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Matty. Haven’t you been paying attention? Izo’s going to take control of you and then he’s going to send you to kill me. And you’ll do it. You’ll _want_ to do it. Your Black Sky is a corrupted spirit and you’ll go right along with it.”

“You’ll stop me. Right?”

Stick shrugged. “Not if I lose. But then again if I lose, and Izo wins, and Vaatu wins, _everything_ will get stopped. So I might just not be the one to do it, but you’ll get stopped.”

“You’re not being comforting,” Matt said. “I know it’s not your style, but can we focus on the version of the story where we don’t all die?”

“You want to know why they called you the Hound?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

Stick inched towards him. “Because you tore out people’s throats and mashed them up. Like an animal would. I think you did it with your teeth a couple times. Just to mix it up.”

It wouldn’t do any good, but his hands instinctively went to cover his ears. “Stop.”

“You chewed on one of them. Just some of the face.”

“Stick – “

“It was one of the Chaste. I trained her, and you killed her, and almost ate her raw. I guess they weren’t feeding you properl – “

“SHUT UP!”  His limbs flailed and a massive gust of wind disturbed everything around him, nearly knocking over the tents far behind and causing a wave in Stick’s pool that almost carried him right out of the water. “Shut up shut up shut up!” He curled himself into a ball, head on the ground in front of him, arms covering his ears and head. If Stick continued to speak, Matt didn’t hear. His chest started heaving, and he thought he might lose his lunch, but instead there was just gasping and sobbing. He cried like he hadn’t in years, watering the grass beneath him. It was all wet and full of mucus from his nose and he could barely breathe from it, and his chest hurt for other reasons, too. Unable to comfort him, Black Sky retreated, ashamed, somewhere deep inside him.

It was a long time before he could pick his head up and wipe his face off, and Stick was not speaking or moving. Stick was waiting, even patiently, for Matt to cry, then pull himself together.

“When I killed all those people,” Stick said, “the people in the Hand, the random criminals in my way, the Black Skies we couldn’t save – I was conscious. I was aware of myself. I was making a choice. I thought it was the right choice, but I had the freedom to make it. All those years I helped Izo, so now it’s come back around on me, and I have to be the one to stop him, even if it kills me. Which it probably will. You, on the other hand, are still the most innocent fucking kid I have ever dealt with. The good part of you can’t be snuffed out. That’s why you’re always miserable but why you always survive. You feel too guilty to die, like you don’t deserve it. The Hound is a part of you. It will never stop being a part of you. But in the big battle over you, it lost. It lost and you won. You’re made of tougher stuff. That’s why you’ll always win.”

Stick reached out with his hand and after a brief hesitation, touched Matt’s chest, calling up his Black Sky. It was a light touch, like waving to a friend you spotted on the street and then striking up a conversation, even if Black Sky didn’t speak. Black Sky loved Stick – Matt already knew that – with the same somewhat misplaced fatherly affection Matt had had for him as a child, before Stick had abandoned them, but Black Sky also _trusted_ Stick, and that notion was the one that flooded Matt now.

Black Sky was saying, without words, that he should trust Stick’s judgment.

Stick pulled away. Neither of them said anything. Matt could hear the beat of his own heart in tune with Stick’s, all of it pounding in his ears while the rest of the world was so quiet.

“Get to work,” Stick said, and climbed out of the water, leaving Matt alone.

**********************

Matt sat on a cushion he placed on the center mound, the one that was really the back of the lion turtle. There was a layer of sediment and grass covering the shell, and a small plant that might someday grow into a tree. The turtle made no movement whatsoever, and either had no heartbeat or had a heart that beat only every so often, because Matt couldn’t hear a single unusual sound, even when he could map out the general shape of the slumbering creature beneath him. Had he not known better, it would have been just another mound of grass.

He fingered his rosary. He was lucky that Foggy had thought to pack it. Foggy usually thought of things like that. Matt usually had it under his shirt or in the pocket of his suit, but somewhere between the fight with Izo and waking up at the North Pole his clothes had been changed and he was wearing whatever was on hand. He’d used to have a gold cross that had been his mother’s, but that had disappeared when he  had first been snatched off the street in Hell’s Kitchen by the rogue Hand members. It had now been years since he thought about it, but it still made his heart  feel heavy. Another thing taken from him that could not be given back.

He didn’t try to force himself into achieving any kind of deep focus. He just sat there, fiddling with the beads, occasionally pricking his ears to sounds of the forest and getting a clearer picture of the unchanging world around him. Stick and Inna were both asleep – in separate tents – and Fury was out with Howard, doing whatever it was Fury did when he wasn’t chauffeuring ninjas and spies. Mat let his mind wander, to Foggy and Juan and Marci and Karen and the Avengers and Claire and Hell’s Kitchen and the Spirit World, and anywhere else it wanted to go. He waited until Black Sky was quiet, then straightened his posture and put his hands on top of each other in his lap, palms open to the sky, and closed his eyes.

He pictured Black Sky, sitting across from him in the ether. Since he didn’t know what Black Sky really looked like, if it looked like anything describable, he focused on the image he had, of Black Sky as a nine-year-old Matthew Murdock, as best as he remembered himself. Little Matty, with his eyes open wide, because Matt had only ever seen himself in the mirror when his eyes were open (of course). He remembered not looking like his dad, who had a tall head with a wide forehead without being meaty, and Matt remembered his own face as being round. If his father returned, he would recognize this Black Sky version of Matt, not the adult one, who had been able to move on.

“I need your help.”

Black Sky flinched in response. Or shuddered. Or just generally changed shape around the edges. It wasn’t used to using its voice, or talking directly to Matt.

“I keep calling you Black Sky. Do you want a name?”

When Black Sky shrugged it was a burst of colors. “It means something to you.”

“Humans have names. We need them to distinguish each other.”

“What name do you want me to have?”

Since Black Sky seemed so open to the suggestion as a means to connect to Matt, he decided to go for it. “How about Mike? It’s my middle name, after Saint Michael the Archangel. So it’s something we already share.”

Black Sky didn’t recognize the idea of a name, but it recognized the name. “What do you need my help with?”

Matt took a deep breath and turned his head to the right. A third person had joined them. Sitting beside them, cold and silent, was the Hound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry to scare you guys off with all the bending! Foggy will be back in a big way, but this part of the journey Matt has to do on his own. Please please comment if you have an issue with the story.


	10. The Lowest Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for violence and gore.

Matt didn’t know what the Hound looked like any more than he knew what _he_ looked like – so, not at all. He remembered what it felt like to be him. He remembered the gear – the minimal cloth clothing, like his oldest Daredevil suit, the body armor that encased him in some kind of lightweight polymer even more advanced than his newer suits, the metal collar around his neck that he could feel if he lowered his head too far forward or back, the goggles, the headscarf with a knotted pattern meant to obscure the rest of his face – he didn’t know how often all of it was changed, except not enough. There were long periods of darkness in his memories, and not just from being eager to forget. He’d had no interactions with anyone human for a long time before he was rescued, so they must have drugged him every time they wanted to get near.

This wasn’t the Hound. He was the Hound, and this was just a visualization of him, less real than Black Sky, but scarier.

“I don’t want to do this,” Black Sky said. His edges sparkled with fear, like little fireworks going off.

“I know you were there,” Matt said. “I know you suffered just like I did.”

Black Sky shrunk himself down, as if to hide.

“I know there was nothing you could do to stop it,” Matt continued. “Do you get sad when I do things that humans consider bad?”

“I get sad when you get sad,” Black Sky clarified. Matt wasn’t expecting Black Sky to proclaim his allegiance to Catholicism, but it had been paying attention all these years.

“But we weren’t always sad.”

“No,” Black Sky replied, as ashamed as he was. “Sometimes we really liked it.”

There were good times. They were so good they were hard to forget, however much work Matt put into it. A lot of hours in Confessional and in therapy hadn’t erased that, even if it had justified the druggy euphoria he remembered. Life as the Hound was only ups and downs, nothing in the middle. When he was down, he was more or less willing to forget anything, like not having any freedom, or comfort beyond a dirty blanket, or all the stimuli around him that he associated with travel and hated – slow swaying, or rolling, or the hum of jet engines – as long as he didn’t have to move. His limbs were too heavy to do anything with them. His brain was too mushy for complex thoughts. If he was annoyed, or uncomfortable, or unhappy, those emotions just flowed past him and he was a mere spectator. Things like voices in the distance and pain from the wear and tear on his body would come and go, but never stay long.

The absolute worst of it was when that calm slipped away from him and he started coming back up. Sometimes it was before they gave him the drugs to bring him up, sometimes shortly after it. His cage became too small, too stuffy, lacking anything to hold on to, sensory or otherwise. His skin itched on the surface and beneath. Sometimes he scratched until he bled. He needed to run and jump but he only had enough room to stand, and if he did anything more than that his head  banged against the ceiling. He was too nervous to eat so he wouldn’t, and the food would go unnoticed until his stomach stabbed him with hunger pangs, and then he would eat too quickly and be sick. He knew about the cycle but each time he was powerless to stop it. It was the only path he could take. He never learned, never got better.

But when he got there, to the top, with wonderful, shiny drugs in his system, and he was free – then there was no more pacing or hurt. He had his target he could go to, often so fast that he didn’t pick up the scents on the way. If there were other heartbeats they didn’t register, though he could get people confused if they smelled like each other, or like the room they were in, and he took them both out, so it didn’t matter. It was stress-free. It was _fun_.

“The woman we fought from the Chaste,” Matt said to Black Sky, his own voice sounding unfamiliar to him. “The one Stick mentioned. Do you remember it?”

“I remember everything,” Black Sky said.

Matt’s memories extended out like his senses did when he walked forward, and the darkness retreated and was replaced by input. The floor of one of the rooms was tatami, the real kind, not the cheap Chinatown stuff. The air was a little smoggy, with the city somewhere beyond the apartment, and the smells he now recognized. He was in Japan. He hadn’t known that at the time, nor would he have bothered to try to figure it out.

The couple was dead beneath him, one in the bedroom, one in the doorway. He didn’t know which one was the target. They used the same soaps and shampoos. They had been in bed together, wrapped in the same cotton sheets. The cloth he was given with the scent of his target was from their home, so it could be either one. There was a cat somewhere, but it had made its escape early, and if he left the building before something came to collect him, everything would hurt, so he didn’t pursue.

The electric coffee machine’s alarm was going off. The scent wasn’t quite in the bedroom yet, but it would be as the beans burned. The smell of real food, especially the fresh, quality items, was always a bit of a distraction to him. Sometimes he couldn’t hold himself back from eating it. Today he was particularly hungry; he must have missed some meals. He was edgy – both targets had died too easily for him to expend any real energy. His hands were shaking.

He was distracted. It was a weakness. He didn’t notice the third heartbeat, the one in the kitchen, until he was halfway there, and he had milliseconds to duck out of the way of the sword coming at his head. He didn’t smell any fear. That wasn’t unusual – he usually got to targets before they had a chance to be scared of him – but it was nice when they did last a little longer. This one was different. She was fast, maybe even as fast as him, and trying to get the jump on him. He grunted. He got the jump on things, not the other way around. She wasn’t moving like a target.

He grabbed the houseplant next to him and hurled it at her. Her sword cut through it, but it slowed her down enough for him to duck under the glass table. His shoulder pads were strong, and when he jumped back up, the glass panel came up with him, fell over, and crashed into her as she tried to get behind him.

There was blood and torn sinew, but he couldn’t allow any time for her to cover from the shock. He kicked the sword away and stamped down on her wrist. It should have shattered it, but she was wearing armor. She was in pain but she didn’t scream. She was talking, but they were people words, so he ignored them and stomped on her face.

There was a knife. She had a second weapon, but he didn’t sense it because it was so small and he was too hyperfocused. Even covered in glass shards and with one boot on her face, she pulled out the knife and stabbed him in the meaty flesh of his leg, just below the knee, where there was lots of muscle for the blade to find. He couldn’t scream, he wasn’t allowed, he knew what would happen if he did, but his efforts to hold it in were yet another distraction, one long enough for her to throw him off her and roll to the side and up, on top of him. He caught her hand, the one with the knife pointing at his face, and held it away from him just enough for him to headbutt her and scramble up and away. He had knives, but he didn’t like using them. If he waved them the wrong way, at the wrong targets, he would get shocked. It was better to use his hands.

She smelled of sweat and blood, but still, no fear. One of her hands was almost shredded and her heart pumped with a steady, assured beat. He was excited by it. He wanted to tear her apart.

She wasn’t beyond using furniture as weapons. She grabbed a chair from the shattered table and hurled it at him, but he caught it. He could tell from the strain in her stance that she was calmer and maybe even had better training but he had brute force on his side. He had more muscle and weight. He was stronger. He was the monster; she was only something in the way of targets.

She knew all this, too. She gave up on the chair, hurling it into the wall next to them so hard that it broke in pieces, and she used the leg to bash him in the head. She hit him right in the ear, not a particularly vital place but the most exposed, but also one of the sources of his balance. She must have known that, too, because she kept pummeling the side of his head instead of going for the nose or mouth.

“She said your name,” Black Sky said. Matt didn’t remember, but Black Sky did. “Murdock.”

He didn’t know if he had ignored it or just not heard it because he was trying to maintain control when his head was being pounded in. He fell to the side, betraying how bad his balance was getting, but landed on his hands and knees. He could still feel the carpet. He couldn’t control his heartbeat, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to go faster, as fast as his body could go. He didn’t feel real pain; it never registered below a surface level, wouldn’t for hours. He could outlast her. That was an option. If she were any less aggressive, it would be a good one, but this one wasn’t going to let up. He needed to at least hurt her, badly, so he grabbed her injured arm and bit down as hard as he could.

It was amazing how the whole body could  crumple under one severe source of pain. The skin and muscle in her hand were already damaged. Her blood tasted different than his, a nice change of flavor. The palm was calloused but the rest of her skin was soft. She used moisturizer, the expensive kind. He bit off part of her flesh, and _then_ he smelled fear.

“Stop,” Black Sky said. “Please stop.”

Mat could keep going, if he wanted. The memories were a mix, from both of them, but it was his body that had gone through it.

“Please,” Black Sky said, pleading. Spirits didn’t like or understand fleshy things, but _his_ Black Sky knew enough of them now. Was Black Sky crying? Could spirits cry? Did they have tear ducts?

Matt wanted to say, _We didn’t want to do it_ , but they both knew that was a lie. The Hound was a killing machine because Matt was capable of becoming one.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said to Black Sky.

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” he admitted. He couldn’t lie to Black Sky. “But it’s good to have hope.” He had lost any sense of his real body a long time ago, other than the fact that he was seated, but he took a long, deep breath, trying to envision the stream of energy in his body, right where Stick said it was. And only just recently had he been reminded what light was, so he imagined he was filled with it. He turned his head, and looked at the Hound. “You’re a part of me, and I can’t undo what we did together.” Controlled breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. “I don’t have a right to do this, but I forgive you.”

He told himself he couldn’t truly believe those words, but saying them made them different. He reached out, and the Hound dissipated into a thousand points of light, sailing over him and Black Sky and lighting up the sky to form a bright white creature. It was only two-dimensional, with no depth at all, and it looked a bit like a sting ray standing up, but with long tentacles instead of a spine, and a bright blue diamond in the center.

“Raava,” Black Sky, back in Matt’s body, said. “You’ve been here all along.”

“Lost spirit,” Raava said. Her voice was warm and female. “I have never left you. Darkness can only hide my presence for so long. But only the Avatar can purify you, when the gate between worlds is open. Until then – “ And she slid away, growing ever smaller, and went back into the tea kettle far off at camp.

Matt became aware of his body, warm and glowing, very quickly, and of the ground beneath him – or that he wasn’t on it. His body was levitating a foot off the grass on the lion turtle’s back.

But the second he noticed it, whatever was causing it was gone, and he fell back to the ground, hit his tailbone hard, and fell back into the water behind the lion turtle, which ignored him completely.

He was only below the surface for a few moments before the water around him shifted and tossed him out and straight up into the air. But it was better up there, because it was easier for him to find his way upright and bend the air around him so that he landed gracefully on his feet.

Across the pond, Stick set the water down and hurled fireball after fireball at Matt, who dodged them easily, bounding between ponds and landing on earth each time. There was nothing Stick could throw that he couldn’t catch and dissipate with air.

Stick laughed. “ _Now_ you’re an airbender.”


	11. "Pretty Much Magic"

“You could have rescued me,” Matt said. This time, he didn’t have the heart for an accusation. He was just stating a fact.

“That was a point of contention between me and the rest of the Chaste,” Stick replied. “They said I should go after you myself. But I knew I couldn’t kill you. That was a line I couldn’t cross. It made me weak, and they knew it. So they threw me out.”

“What about Izo? I know he was still in prison but – “

“Izo never cared about you,” Stick said. “Not once you became a liability for me. He didn’t like anyone who couldn’t let go of their attachments. If the beginning of the end for us hadn’t already happened, it would have happened when you were just a kid.”

“Inna.”

“Black Skies don’t bother explaining why they get attached to people,” Stick explained.

“Humans don’t either,” Matt said. “When they’re being dicks.”

“I’m not going to deny it.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

This one Stick didn’t answer immediately. He knew the answer, but he didn’t want to say it. He crossed the distance between them, turning the passages of water to ice as he went so he could make a straight line to Matt. So his bending was back. “I need you to do something for me. But you’re not going to like it. In fact, you’re going to hate me for asking.”

Matt wanted to say that he didn’t hate Stick, and would never hate Stick, but he knew better. Trying to be a good person involved a lot of failure. “Just tell me already.”

“You have to be the one to find the next Avatar.”

“I thought we were – “

“Not yet. Not yet. But it has to be you, Matty.”

“Why?”

“For reasons that will be obvious at the time. And because you’re the only one I trust.” It sounded like it took him a lot to admit that, even though Stick probably didn’t truly trust anyone. It came with the territory of who he was. “It’ll be an airbender.”

“Stick, I don’t even know where – “

“I didn’t say it would be easy. But it’s something I need you to do. I need you to promise me.”

Stick had never asked him to promise him before. Stick’s desires came out as _orders_ – or at best, very cruel suggestions. “I don’t know how. Or where. Or when.”

“The last part will be obvious,” Stick said.

The only thing Matt was sure of here was that Stick needed him to say yes, very badly – so badly that he was worried that Matt wouldn’t, even though they both knew the answer long before the question was asked. “Okay. Yes. I’ll find the Avatar.”

“You promise?”

“Yes,” Matt said, even more baffled. “Yes, I promise. But I’m going to need more instructions. I don’t really understand any of this.”

But Stick ignored that part of it. Of course he did. “I knew I could trust you.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“Fine. I knew I could put my foolish hopes in you.” Stick put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and squeezed. “Wiseass.”

**********************

None of this meant Stick was prepared to go easy on Matt. He taught airbending the same way he taught everything else, by pushing Matt harder and harder, without asking for consent. When Zuri returned to teach Stick earthbending, Matt turned into less of an observer and more of a target for them to aim for, because he was faster than Inna.

Zuri personified moving slowly and carrying a big stick, even if he did set his ceremonial staff aside for the actual bending. “It has nothing to do with outer strength,” he said, despite being a massive person who towered over all of them, and most of his body was solid muscle. “After all, the best earthbender became one when she was a little girl.” But Stick couldn’t travel to the Spirit World with Izo looking for him, so he was stuck with Zuri, who was far less experienced than the spirit Toph. He was probably about Stick’s age, but moved like a young man when he was bending. “You can draw energy from the earth. You’re stronger when you’re on the ground.” Maybe that was why he was always barefoot.

Foggy liked going barefoot, but rarely did it, as germs took a priority over bending, which he rarely used anyway. He also liked to blame the fact that he was “big” on earthbending, but Zuri was “big” without having a spare pound on him. Matt asked him what age he was when he was given earthbending.

“I inherited it,” he told Matt. “There are a few bloodlines lines in Wakanda. Not everyone gets it, but if they do, bending usually manifests around the age of three. Sometimes later. There are late bloomers.”

“Is the king a bender?”

“That’s His Highness’s business,” Zuri said, shutting down that conversation. “The royal bloodline is business of the state, Outsider.”

“Waterbender,” Stick said, and Zuri stamped on the ground and the earth came up from Stick and hurled him far into the air, enough for a deadly landing if he didn’t know how to airbend his way down.

“You are lucky that T’Challa deemed you worthy,” Zuri said to Stick.

“Who says he did?” Stick replied, which earned him a massive rock to the head, which he only dodged because again, airbending. He shot fire at Zuri, who blocked by bringing up a rock wall between them.

“You can’t rely on your other bending!” Zuri shouted over the fiery blast between them. “There’s no point in carrying around earth if you’re not going to use it.”

Matt was amused by how against Stick’s instincts earth inherently was. He’d just finished water, and before that air, and both of them relied heavily on round or flowing movements and perpetual motion, whereas a lot of earth was waiting and acting with force that required a heavy stance. But Stick never complained, and took whatever Zuri dished out while Matt and Inna watched. Stick was a stronger bender in general, and quicker to adapt, but Zuri was a master earthbender and Stick could barely move a single stone.

“Come on,” Matt said as Stick tried to lift up the earth in front of him. “Even Foggy can do that.” Which got him a fireball to the face that singed some of his beard before he dispersed it, and was followed by a rock to the forehead which wasn’t quite big enough to knock him over, but not for lack of trying. “Ow!”

“You knew that was coming,” Inna said from the sidelines.

“Don’t kill him,” Fury said, announcing his return on Howard. “We might need him for something.”

“I feel like I should have more of a say in this,” Matt said. He approached Fury and took the braille touchpad from him. After a minute of reading he frowned. “Does Foggy know you have so much surveillance on his apartment?”

“Do you not want me to watch over your kid while you’re gone?”

Fury had him there, and Matt hated it. “Has anyone been spying on them? Other than S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Izo’s gathering Black Skies, but only the ones who are remote. Hard to get in a crisis. If he tries to take them all, he’ll draw too much attention, even if people don’t figure out _why_ he’s doing it. He hasn’t gone for anyone in the United States.”

“That you know of.”

“It’s my business to know these things,” Fury said with a bit of an edge, then had to duck a stray rock that came in his general direction. “Do you want the protective guard or not?”

“I do.” He just knew Foggy and Marci wouldn’t be happy about it. “Thank you, Director Fury. Or Former Director Fury. Are you actually running S.H.I.E.L.D. or are you just using their systems?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Matt tried to lighten up. He was deep in debt to Fury, for whatever help he was getting and for whatever reason he was getting it. “I need to send a message to Nat, so I can talk to Foggy.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s time.” Off in the distance, Matt heard Stick crying out from being crushed by a pile of boulders. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll manage.”

**********************

“I’m just going to ask one last time – “

“And the answer is no,” Karen said. “I’m not changing my last name to Murdock.”

“It would be very helpful to our clients.”

“It would be very confusing to our clients.”

Because when people called Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law, to listen to their case and maybe pony up some bail money, and they got two people showing up to do just that, they thought they were Nelson and Murdock, not Nelson and Legal-Aid-Not-Named-Murdock.

“You’ll just have to convince Matt to marry me,” Karen said as they stepped through the wooden barrier into the public section of the police station.

“I know for a fact he doesn’t expect spouses to take his last name,” Foggy said. “And how would that sit with your boyfriend, Mr. Hurricane?”

“Storm.”

“Sorry. And thank you for coming down today.” Foggy did not like doing jail consultations alone.  He was just more comfortable with a second person, even if she was just an official notetaker. “Usually people take off from minor felonies during a heatwave. Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Studying. What about you?”

“I was thinking of visiting my parents.” It was Juan’s last weekend before school started, and his grandparents always wanted to see him. “It would be good for us to get out of the city.”

“The city is not just Manhattan,” Karen replied. “So ... no news on Matt?”

“No news is supposed to be good news,” he grumbled, and called an Uber for Karen to get back to the university library. “Though I wouldn’t mind being at the North Pole right now.” A wave of solid heat hit them when they opened the front doors, like they had opened up an oven.

“You know, normal people don’t get to just go to the North Pole whenever they want. It’s a huge trip for them.”

“I can see how, in other circumstances, it would be a fun trip,” he admitted. “Got to see the Northern Lights.”

“See? Exactly.”

“Also got a stress ulcer and can never tell anyone I actually went to the North Pole.”

“I’m sure you can put it in your tell-all book someday,” Karen said as she climbed in the cab. She was always willing to look on the bright side. She also had only had to deal with an injured, confused Daredevil stumbling around her apartment at three in the morning four or five times, max.

Foggy picked up dinner on the way home. Since Marci’s eating schedule was all over the place, it was better to be early than late with food. “Hey,” he said to Juan, who was playing video games on the couch. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Juan said, in his characteristic teenager voice that Foggy was hearing more and more often.

“Did you go out today?”

“Too hot.”

Foggy was going to make a comment about how hot it was in Mexico, but he stopped himself in time. He had to admit he was also pleasantly relieved to be inside, where he could shed his jacket and sweated-through suit shirt and grab a beer. He put the groceries away, set dinner aside for reheating, and joined Juan on the couch, numbly watching Juan blast away at CGI aliens until he felt his phone vibrate.

_Talk to Matt in Spirit World? – NR_

“Shit.” He dialed her. He didn’t want anything to get lost in translation over texts. “Hi. I’m not, uh, good at that.”

“I know.” How did she always know everything? Of course – she was a spy who was sleeping with Matt. “I can help you. But it’s the only way we can do this. That is, if you want to talk to him – ”

“Of course, I – ” He was just conflicted in what to say that wouldn’t make him sound dumb, like he was groveling, or would be somehow sufficient. “I’m a little mad at him right now.”

“That’s good. That’s a good sign.”

“For many reasons. But yeah, of course, if this is the way have to do it, then I’ll schedule you in between taking care of my caseload and Matt’s caseload and taking care of our family, and – Shit, okay, I should have asked this first, but how is he?”

“I don’t know. No direct contact.” Natasha was always to the point, which he usually admired about her, at least when he was in a better mood. “I can come by your office tomorrow. I’ll text you the time when I know it.” She hung up before he could object. Not that he would, but he did have a busy schedule. Not as important as an Avenger’s, maybe, but still busy.

Without looking up, Juan said, “You didn’t tell Marci about the Spirit World, did you?”

“There are some things she’d rather not know,” Foggy said, which was technically true. “And it’s really complicated.”

“I told her about Pio,” Juan said. “Not a big deal.”

“To some people it’s a very big deal,” Foggy said, sinking further into the couch. “But it’s good that you, um, told her. I felt like it shouldn’t have been me.”

Juan shrugged in response. He had far too little interest in this conversation and Foggy was happy for the silence.

Marci came home late as usual, and starving for it. She said she knew how to cook, for the general record, but Foggy had seen very little evidence of it, since most of their expensive gift registry cookware was still in boxes. He was used to cooking from years of catering to Matt’s fanatical taste buds so reheating stir fry was not beyond his abilities. He was just glad she was eating again, even if maybe she wasn’t doing enough of it at work. “You made partner and your boss is my mom. I think the office can handle a maternity announcement.”

“You’ve never been a woman in the workplace,” she said. “And your hair length does not qualify you for _anything_ in this department.”

Her own hair was freshly done. This was the time of the month that Matt, with his particular hatred for bleaching and dyes, stayed far away from her if he could manage it.

“I have a meeting tomorrow with Natasha,” Foggy told her much later, when they were getting ready for bed. “She’s coming to the office so that I can talk to Matt. But – if you want to know how to do it – it’s pretty much magic.”

“Fantastic,” Marci said as she removed her earrings. “I don’t care.”

“Oh thank G-d. It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But – I assume you’re not going to freak out after talking to Matt, right? Because if so, you’re going to visit your parents and you’re staying with them until that passes again.”

“She thinks it’s safe.”

“Right, because Black Widow knows what _safe_ is.” But she knew better than to fight him on this. “Tell him I don’t care what it costs, I’ll hire someone to saw his name right off the plate if he doesn’t get home and start pulling his share of the load soon. Unless you can do that with your magic.”

“No metal. Just stone.” He kissed her. “I’ll tell Matt you love him and you miss him dearly.”

“I do tend to notice when he’s gone,” she offered. “That part is true. His absence is noticeable.”

“I always knew you had a soft spot for him.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

**********************

Matt arrived in the Spirit World first. With his Black Sky both more alert and settled, it was easier to get in and out. And he was a little nervous, so it was better to be early than late. He ignored the wandering spirits, who usually deemed him unworthy of crossing their shadows (if they had shadows) but felt sympathy for the trapped spirit inside him.

Natasha appeared first, followed by Foggy, who needed a few tries to do it. They both stood, and it was even easier to sense Foggy’s nerves here than in the material world.

“Are you good?” Natasha said to Foggy.

“Yeah,” Foggy said, swallowing the word. “Yeah, I think I’m good.” He waved nervously in her direction. “You can go. Thanks for the help.”

“If you need time, I’ll watch your body at the office,” Natasha said. “Hi, Matt.”

This meeting wasn’t about them, but it was good to see her again. Now he could appreciate how much she moved like Inna. “Hi, Nat.”

“Are you okay?”

Matt shrugged. “I think so. Thank you. For everything.”

Natasha nodded knowingly and disappeared, leaving only the two of them (well, three of them) and the thick wall of tension between them that was almost a real wall.

Eventually, Foggy moved. He punched Matt in the face, surprisingly hard. Matt took it, of course. It would have knocked him flat if he weren’t an airbender. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did.” Foggy’s hands were still in fists at his sides but his anger was dissipating. “I guess not _you_ you, though. But I could have used a warning.”

“I would never have – “

“Now I know, why you didn’t, since we both found out about Black Skies. I thought you couldn’t show me, but Juan could see it, and I just – I didn’t think about it. Maybe it was too personal.”

“Stick told me not to. Even other Black Skies – we’re not unaffected by it. It’s still baring your soul.”

Foggy was looking anywhere but in his direction. Mostly down at his own feet. And Matt could tell, because of the Spirit World. “He – it – made me feel ... it made me feel so guilty.”

That was not the word Matt was expecting. “That upset him.”

“Him?”

“I named him Mike. Gave him a gender too, I guess.”

“ _Mike_.” Foggy shook his head. “Of course you did.”

“I don’t think he really likes the name. Doesn’t really know what it is. He’s not human.”

“Yeah, I know. I know that so much,” Foggy insisted. “Matt, you have no idea – okay, maybe you have some idea. Or maybe it’s like trying to see the back of your head for you. But – he loves me. He loves me so much it hurts. He loves me in a way that a person can’t love another person. We’re not capable of it.” He still didn’t know what to do with his hands, even though he talked with them. They sort of flailed around. “I’ve never loved anyone that much. Not you, not Juan – shit, I don’t even love Marci that much. I don’t think I can. I think I would die trying. And she’s _my wife_. But he loved me and I couldn’t return it.”

Matt thought for a moment, and then said, “Love is probably the wrong word.” To which his Black Sky said, _No it isn’t_. But Matt didn’t think he was right. “You don’t have to feel bad about anything. It wasn’t me in there, not all the way. It was a spirit you’ve never met who could manipulate your emotions. It wasn’t a fair exchange.”

“I know that now!” Foggy shouted. “I mean, I kinda understand now. But not really. I saw you, I saw your dad – “

“You saw my dad?”

Foggy nodded furiously, even desperately. “I saw your parents talking. Fighting. In your kitchen. Don’t ask me how I know it was your kitchen – “

“Foggy, my mom left before I was six months old. My brain couldn’t make long-term memories. I don’t even remember what the _picture_ of her looked like.”

_But I was there_ , Black Sky said.

“We were all there. You, me, Bla – Mike. The colors were wrong. I don’t think you remember colors correctly. Or maybe Mike doesn’t. Or whatever. And I saw Stick ... well, I didn’t _see_ Stick. You really are blind.”

“I’m aware.”

“Because of all your powers, I guess I stopped thinking about it. But, shit, you’ve never seen him. You’ve never seen me.” He wasn’t angry now, just sad.

“You know I don’t want pity.”

“It was just crazy shit, Matt! All of it! And after all of that I still couldn’t get to you! I couldn’t fix you! I didn’t know what to do!” Foggy hit the sides of his heads as the fitful tears began, trapped in his shut eyes. “I couldn’t help you.”

Matt took Foggy’s arms down. “Foggy. Listen, you did help me. You got me to the North Pole and Stick. That was literally the only thing that could have been done to help me and you managed to do it. No one else would have. I could have been like that for years and instead it was just ... a day?” He still wasn’t entirely sure. “You did exactly what I needed you to do, and all you got for it was pain and suffering. I’m sorry.” He added, “Mike is also sorry.”

Foggy took a deep breath, but tears were still falling. “When you sent me away, I was losing my mind. But if I’d stayed – “

“You would have stayed like that. Which wasn’t fair to you. Or Juan or Marci or Karen or anyone else. At that moment you were the most important person in the world to me and I needed you, but I needed you to be free more. So I pushed you away.”

“I hated you for it,” Foggy said. “Or I would have. Had I been capable.” But instead he grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. “I don’t know how this has gotten so complicated. Real marriage is much simpler.”

Matt laughed against the fabric of Foggy’s jacket. “Really?”

“Yeah, I just do whatever she tells me.” He would not let go, not even for an instant, and Matt was content to let his face be smooshed into Foggy’s clothing. “Marci’s still mad at you. She’s under a lot of stress. She’s worried – “

“If this is about taking Juan – “

“No, this has nothing to do with that,” Foggy insisted. “Juan isn’t a stress. She likes Juan. He likes her. And he’s pretty independent. She knew when we married that Juan was part of the package, whether you were there or not, and she’s okay with that.”

“She’s going to be a good mom.”

“She _is_ a good mom,” Foggy said defensively as he finally loosened his grip so Matt didn’t suffocate entirely. “She’s worried about you. Less than me, but more than Juan. You’re his superhero dad. You’re an Avenger and a ninja and a Black Sky and he’s convinced that nothing bad can ever happen to you. _Marci’s_ the one who’s worried.”

“She – “ But actually, he didn’t know what to say to that. “She doesn’t have to be.”

“She is. Because she cares about you. She may not have acted like it in the past ... entire time that you’ve known her, but she does. And don’t tell me you’re fine unless you are.”

Matt couldn’t stand to lie to him, so he picked his words carefully. “I’m much better. I’m recovering, but I’m staying because ... he needs me.”

“Stick. Needs you.” Foggy was not ready to believe that, even if Matt did. “The last time he asked you for a favor, it was to kill a kid. Unless there’ve been other times you haven’t mentioned.”

Matt shook his head. “If he wants something, he just takes it. But he _asked_ me. He _needs_ me. He needs me so much he can’t even say it. Inna had to spell it out for me.”

“For how long?”

“A couple more weeks,” Matt said. It did seem like an impossibly long time for both of them, now that he was standing with Foggy. “Stick has never needed me for anything. Ever.”

Foggy was struggling with accepting the idea that Matt would continue to be absent from his life. “He did fix you.”

“No one else could have done it.”

“He’s also the reason it happened.”

“Everyone has their weaknesses,” Matt admitted. “I just happen to be Stick’s.”

“Matt, we love you. We miss you. Come home.”

He did really want to. Black Sky was torn – he always wanted to be around Foggy, but he had an allegiance to Stick, and liked the Spirit Grove. Black Sky would rather Foggy just come back to Wakanda with him, but that was how a spirit thought. “I will. Just – not right away. I have to finish this.”

“I know you think you do,” Foggy said, in his best ‘I barely understand your motivations’ voice, one he’d used frequently over the years, mostly over Daredevil stuff. “And I know I’m not going to convince you of otherwise.”

“If anyone could, it would be you.” But no one could. He’d made a promise to Stick, and he was going to keep it. “I’ll be back before Harmonic Convergence.”

“That’s the thing where the big bad spirit fights the good spirit?”

“Yes. Basically. I think.”

Foggy finally cracked a smile. “I’m glad we have a real handle on the situation.”

“Me too, buddy.”


	12. Small Mercies

As hard as Zuri went on Stick, he never caused any serious harm. Stick made claims about healing himself through meditation, but Inna wanted him to use waterbending. He wasn’t the best at it. Given time, he wouldn’t make much of a healer, but that was fine. It was a specialty, according to Inna’s Spirit World teachers. Even past Avatars couldn’t master every specialty of every element.

That didn’t mean she didn’t make him try. Stick never gave up trying to bend the water around his sore muscles. Inna would just sigh and say, “Let me.” And he wouldn’t fight her on it, which showed just how tired he was.

“Is he still in there?” she said, referring to Matt, who was sitting on the lion turtle, frozen in place because he was in the Spirit World. Or just asleep sitting up.

“Yeah,” Stick answered as the water climbed up and down his back at Inna’s command. “I can tell. Also, he’s not being a clingy little shit, so that’s something.”

He flinched. Even as experienced as Inna was as a waterbending healer, every once in a while, Stick’s Black Sky would get brushed the wrong way and light up in his core, more startled than angry. Inna said, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said. He always said that. “Thank you.” Despite being in better shape, his voice was more tired than it had been before they started.

“You should eat something,” she said as he put his shirt back on.

“No, I should drink something,” he said, but didn’t make a move for his beer cooler. Instead he pulled out the cot and laid down, distinctly leaving enough room for Inna, even if it would be tight, so she joined him. He always started the same way: rolled away from her, closed off, his arms wrapped around him. But his barriers came down eventually.

“Did your airbending guru really make you give up meat and alcohol?”

“And fish. So far I’m two out of three.”

“But you did it.” She didn’t know anyone who could make Stick do something he didn’t want to do, with the possible exception of Matt Murdock.

“He gave me what I needed,” was the entirety of Stick’s response. “I don’t always have to lie about my promises.”

His voice was replaced by the night sky, full of mosquitoes and crickets, but his breathing didn’t slow like he was going to sleep. Eventually he turned so he was on his back. If the sound of a brain churning one thought around and around could be heard, it would be a blaring alarm in the small tent.

“Should I have been honest with Matt about the Avatar?” It was more like he was airing out a thought than asking her, and she knew that.

It was so strange to hear Stick question his own judgment. Inna put a hand over the one on his chest and said, “You know him better than I do.”

“I’ve lied to him before,” he said. “Lots of times.” He wasn’t making an excuse for himself. Stick didn’t make excuses, just parried with obscenities. “I think this is the best way. Or he might try to change it. Get himself killed. He does things like that.”

“Could he really change anything if he tried?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But I don’t want to find out the hard way.”

Stick would do anything to protect Matt. Inna knew that. That was why he was here, right now, following the path he’d chosen. There was no room for error.

“Do you have regrets? About things you’ve done?”

Stick had clearly never asked this question before. Maybe it had never even occurred to him to think of it. So Inna just said, “Never.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stick, _darling_ ,” she said in Russian. “ _Learn to take a joke_.”

**********************

Stick was a fast learner. Matt wasn’t all that surprised – he supposed bending skills stacked a bit over the years – that Stick was keeping up with Zuri within a few weeks, and beating him if he used his other bending. His techniques weren’t refined, but he could draw on his Black Sky for stamina and brute strength.

“Can spirits bend?” Matt asked at dinner, when Zuri was gone for the day.

“They can carry it, but they can’t use it,” Stick said as he stirred the soup with his waterbending, or tried to. There were too many non-water items to make it easy.

“But it makes them stronger.”

“No.” The tenor of Stick’s voice changed. “They’re not an energy source. If you tap into them, you’re tapping into a connection to something else.”

“The Spirit World?”

“Remember how the Black Sky spirits got here. Why they came over to our world.”

“Vaatu.” He was pretty sure he had the name right.

“He corrupted them. So they’re all still linked to him. If we draw on them ... it’s not good to do. Over a long period of time.” Stick had to pause for a moment, to not lose his control on the brewing, or he would lose the spoon. “When I was younger, I didn’t understand how Izo stayed alive. He didn’t teach us. He didn’t like to be asked about it. He only taught us what was necessary for us to complete our missions. Our missions were important. They protected the world from something worse.”

“The Hand.”

“Izo founded the Hand. They’re controlled by a demon called the Beast. They don’t talk about it because there’re walls between them and it, and ordinary people who get too close stop being human altogether. They die. Izo gave them access to the Beast from the very beginning. He thought he could channel that energy on his own terms. When he figured out he was wrong, he abandoned the Hand, and founded the Chaste. He kept the Beast secret from us. We were always fighting it, but we never seemed to win, even though we were stronger than the ordinary members of the Hand. But we were raised to have loyalty to the secrets he didn’t share with us.”

Matt chewed on the information. “Vaatu is the Beast.”

“I never said you were stupid.”

“You’ve said that plenty of times.”

“Where’s all your talk about forgiveness these days?” Stick said, though it was with a chuckle. “The Hand and the Chaste have the same leader and the same enemy. And neither of them can win. Vaatu can only be defeated by Raava. Izo’s been playing this game with people to keep the truth hidden from both of us. He keeps drawing on Vaatu to keep him alive. That’s why Raava wouldn’t make him the Avatar. She said he was too far gone.”

“So what went wrong with you and Izo?”

“I figured it out. It took me a long time but ... I think it was because I stopped trusting him. The Chaste doesn’t have any room for disloyalty.” He added, “You wouldn’t have been happy there.”

Matt wasn’t about to deny that. But he couldn’t exactly bring himself to thank Stick for abandoning him, either. Forgive, yes. Appreciate, no. Some wounds left deep scars. “But you trust me.”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself,” Stick replied. “You’re predictable.”

“You know, if you compliment someone, it might not cause the universe to explode.”

“I’d rather not find out.”

**********************

Matt thought he was getting pretty good at meditation. Stick didn’t agree with him, and let him know by striking him on the head with his staff. If Matt was a few inches off the ground, this inevitably caused him to immediately fall, which led to him keeping a pillow under himself. “Ow!”

“You’re not concentrating,” Stick said. “You should have dodged that.”

“But the point of meditation is – “

“I know what the point of meditation is!” Stick insisted. “I made a rainbow come out of my head!”

“You don’t _really_ know that,” Matt replied, which earned him another smack from the glider. “Ow! Shit!”

“Doesn’t cursing make baby Jesus cry?”

“He’s a baby. He cries about a lot of stuff,” Matt said, but crossed himself. But he was a little relieved when Stick left the Spirit Grove to practice with Zuri and Inna, because he would have more room out in the plains.

Matt removed his shirt and slid into one of the shallow pools. He didn’t care for swimming, but if he could safely keep his head above water he was okay, and the water of the Spirit Grove had a special healing quality, so much so that Inna collected some of it in a jar for future use. He floated on his back, his head facing the sky, wondering what the stars looked like tonight. They had to be brighter than any he’d seen because of the light pollution in Manhattan. When it was quiet, and his body was calm and his mind as adrift as his body, he could hear more of Black Sky’s constant inner monologue, which usually was caught beneath his own focus and emotions, even after being torn apart and shoved back together had made him more aware of Black Sky than he’d ever been. Black Sky wanted to follow Stick. Black Sky wanted to meditate perfectly, because it would make Stick happy. Black Sky didn’t care about stars.

“Mike,” he said, even though Black Sky had not taken to the name, “Be quiet.”

And Black Sky was. Black Sky actually _listened_ to him. Thank G-d for small mercies.

He heard Nick Fury long before Howard landed, but didn’t address him until Fury debarked and approached the pond. “Director Fury.”

Fury cocked his head to look at Matt from above. Matt heard that Fury only had one working eye, and his eyepatch could be intimidating when he wore it. If it was true, his good eye was probably under constant strain and it explained why he swiveled his head so much. “Mr. Murdock.”

Matt was aware that he was under more than a normal amount of investigative glare. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Director?”

“Izo sent his army to raid the North Pole. I didn’t want anyone to die trying to stop him, so I didn’t mount a defense.”

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

“He has access to the Spirit World through the portal in Japan. And the other three are closed.”

Matt positioned himself so he was sitting further up. “Three?”

“South Pole, San Francisco, and New York. They can only be opened by the other side. Or by the Avatar. But at Harmonic Convergence, they’ll all open.”

Matt frowned and grabbed his shirt, which was made of unique fabrics that acted as a self-drying towel. “The one in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“To mount an attack, we only need one point of access. The Avenger’s Tower is three avenues away. Nobody will be complaining about the commute.”

Matt climbed out of the pool and put his shirt on. He took a deep huff and blew the water out of his hair. “Did you brief them?”

“They’re not always known for keeping secrets,” Fury said. “And a couple of them are White Lotus.” He didn’t say how many; Matt wondered if it was more than he knew about.

“You think they won’t go up against Master Izo?”

“I think it’ll be pretty obvious that they should. And the White Lotus is technically not supposed to be a political organization. But ...” Clearly, he had doubts. “We’re not exactly sure when Harmonic Convergence is, but when Izo finishes off collecting Black Skies from outside the US, I figure that’s a good sign.”

“You’re watching Juan, right?”

“I don’t think Izo would take him so early. It would tip us off.”

There had to be much more. Matt realized Fury would have good reason not to tell him everything. If they were right, Matt wouldn’t be fighting on the  Avengers’ side. “Stick told me we were going to search for the Avatar. But then he told me to find him.”

“Really.”

Heartrate increase. Matt sighed. “What is it?”

“Maybe you should talk to Stick about that.”

Fuck. He didn’t need another hint from Nick Fury, even if he didn’t want to follow this particular bit of advice. It was complicated enough, but he grabbed his sandals and ran past Fury and Howard, down the tunnel that led out of the Spirit Grove.

They weren’t far. Stick was facing off against the combined forces of Inna and Zuri, and doing quite a job of it, but mostly by avoiding both of their attacks rather than facing them.

But they weren’t alone. Matt could _see_ it – her – in the real sense of the word, because Raava was right there, her tail trailing down into her teapot until she dipped into Stick, and his body lit up with her energy, and Matt could see the vague outlines of a human form filled with white light. Stick lurched backwards from the strain, then leapt into the air, water and stones trailing him like he could call the elements to his person, and fired blast after blast of fire and air at Zuri and Inna, putting them on the firm defense. Suddenly his forms were perfect, his body completely adapting to each element as he used them in turn, but that lasted for less than a minute before he gasped and dropped, and Raava poured out of him like from a leaky pipe, and retreated to the teapot as Zuri and Inna tried to catch him from falling. It was Matt who had the time and energy to react, though, and he sent up a burst of air that cushioned Stick’s fall.

“Raava,” he said to the spirit of light, which he could really look at. “You ...” He turned instead to Stick, who had been trying and failing to hold her spirit in his body like he held the elements. “You’re the Avatar.”

“Not yet,” Stick said, gasping for air as Zuri held him up. “I can’t, not until – “

“You! You told me we were going to find the Avatar! And then you told me to find him!” Matt shouted. “And it was you all along! What was all of this bullshit about?”

“Matthew –,” Inna said, but not firmly enough.

“You told me Izo was evil for using Vaatu to get more power, but you’re doing the same thing!” He even glared angrily at Raava. His Black Sky wanted to forgive, of course, but he wouldn’t let him. This he could fight. “You’re manipulating me into following you and promising you all kinds of shit while I could have been spending this time with Juan, or making it up to Foggy, or – or anything, except taking more of your abuse! How much time have I _wasted_ here?”

“You don’t understand,” Stick said. He could still barely catch his breath.

“No! I never understand! Because you never tell me anything! You never have and you never will!” As Inna approached him, possibly to comfort him, Matt leapt back, and grabbed Stick’s discarded glider. “I think you trust me because I’m the only one stupid enough to believe you. But I’ve had enough!” He snapped open the glider. “If you don’t need me, stop pretending that you do. I have other things to do with my life.”

“Matty – “ Stick said, but Matt didn’t hear the rest, because he ran in the other direction just long enough to get the wind under the sails of the glider, and took off.


	13. The Next Airbender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALERT: My beta has some scheduling conflicts, so I need to find a new one, and fast. This is the last chapter I had revised and in the can. There's about 28,000 words left in the story, and all it needs is a basic proofread. I have a tendency to not be able to see my typos because my brain will substitute the right word in for the one I actually wrote. If you can help at all with that, send me an email at djclawson at gmail please!
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy and review! For those of you who've been missing him, Foggy is back in a big way in the next chapter.

When Matt could no longer see Raava’s light, even though it was always concentrated in a very specific place, the whole world seemed impossibly dark to him, like being blinded all over again, but he swallowed his feelings about it because everything else hurt too much.

After some time in the air, the sun came up. Then it occurred to Matt that he had absolutely no idea where he was.

Thanks to the sun’s position in the sky, he could get a handle on directions, but not much else. Everything sounded and tasted like wilderness to him – wide, grassy plains and the occasional tree. He could make it out when the wind hit it, but there was almost nothing else for his radar sense to catch. He wasn’t even near water.

Well, maybe getting lost in Africa wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever done, but that was only because he’d done some pretty dumb things. Foggy would have a list ready when he got home. If he got home.

Rather than wear down his feet aimlessly trying to find someone or something when he knew there was nothing out there or he would hear it already, he plunked himself down, using the open glider to make himself some shade. He wasn’t quite done fuming yet. _Black_ Sky was probably saying, _Go back go back_ but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Maybe he couldn’t fathom being angry at Stick, but Matt could.

A few hours later, just about when he was regretting the whole “not search for water thing,” he picked up the hum of a jet of some sort. Unlike the Quinjet, it ran almost silently, merely displacing air like a massive hoverboard. It circled him but didn’t land, only dropped some high-tech ladder netting made of a material Matt had never smelled before.

“Your Highness,” he said, not quite ready to will himself to his feet yet.

“Mr. Murdock,” T’Challa said, and offered a canteen. He said nothing else, giving Matt time to drink blessedly cool water that hurt a little when it sat in his belly.

“Who sent you?” Matt supposed the question was irrelevant, but he asked it anyway.

“We have a custom to keep track of our honored guests,” T’Challa said in a soothing tone that, coming from someone else, would have just ended up sounding patronizing. He took a seat on the ground next to him.

Matt supposed that was fair. “Did they tell you why we’re here?”

“Zuri said knowing could make me a target. He was my father’s best friend and advisor, so I trust him, as my father did.”

“Your father also trusted Stick. And Izo. But I bet he never turned his back to them.”

“He wasn’t an unintelligent man,” T’Challa said. “I told you the Spirit Grove belongs to the world, not just Wakanda. But the truth is the Spirit Grove only makes itself available to those who need it.”

“I know Stick thinks he’s doing the right thing. And I guess maybe the spirits think that. But I just ...” He didn’t know what he needed, except on the most primal level. “I just need to be angry at him right now. But I don’t want to be.”

“Why not?”

He wasn’t expecting the question but he knew the answer. “I love him.”

T’Challa didn’t try to respond, or counter him. He sat there rather patiently for a world leader and Avenger with better things to do with his time. Matt finished the canteen and handed it back.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” T’Challa said rather humbly. He didn’t sound at all like he did when making speeches at the UN. “Anger is like a fire. Sometimes it burns out on its own when it consumes the last of its energy. And sometimes it spreads until everything is ash.”

But it sound to Matt like he was being told what to do. “I know.” And he was embarrassed about the way he’d acted – but still angry, and he couldn’t just push it down. “Stick said you were a waterbender.”

“It runs in my family. But like any gene, it doesn’t pass to every member.”

“You don’t use bending as the Black Panther.”

“I am always the Panther,” T’Challa explained, as he’d no doubt had to many times. “It is my identity as head of the Panther tribe, not a job or costume. From my waterbending teacher I learned how to move, and how to channel my energy around and against my enemies. But otherwise, this is a secret of certain Wakandan families. Zuri says that after Harmonic Convergence, the Avatar can choose to leave the Spirit Portals open, and bring more bending to earth.”

“Stick is the Avatar. Or, not yet, but he’s trying to be. That’s why Zuri’s training him. Did he tell you that?”

“I didn’t inquire,” T’Challa replied. “But from ... certain rituals we have here, that I was taught when I was young, and certain traditions, I’ve been told that the Avatar has a great responsibility. They must live and die and live again, lifetime after lifetime, to maintain the balance between the two worlds. They exist to fight a never-ending battle against war and darkness. To fight this war they must give up ordinary lives and any attachments that come with them. Whereas, I only have to be king once.”

Matt hung his head in shame. He knew the right thing to do, but that didn’t make his heart less heavy. Anger dissolving into self-recrimination was never a good feeling for him, no matter how often it happened. “Will you take me back to the Spirit Grove?”

“If that’s where you want to go,” the king said. “There’s also a Hyatt not far from here. They have a lazy river and air conditioning.”

“I’m going to make a note of that,” Matt said, and got to his feet. “For the future.”

**********************

They didn’t rush back to the grove. Matt was dehydrated and T’Challa insisted that he rest in the jet, and then in the nearby village where the grass huts were equipped with running water and better WiFi than he had in his Manhattan apartment. He drank a quart of juice before they agreed not to put him on an IV, gave him a change of clothes, and by the time they brought him back to the tunnel which did not appear until they were back in the air, it was night.

He thumbed his rosary. He missed the cool, comforting stone of church, and the wise and patient voice of Father Lantom. Actually, any priest would do. But he consoled himself that he knew what they would say.

Aside from the sounds of cooking, the camp was quiet. Zuri was gone, and Inna was heating up packaged food that somehow managed to taste like fresh food. Wakanda was really a special place. Stick was in his tent.

“Is he all right?” Matt asked, his hands in his pockets, one of them with fingers wrapped around the rosary.

“He’s tired,” she answered. There was no accusation there, no questions about Matt’s behavior, or how he might have caused Stick’s distress. “But he needs to get up and eat something, and he’ll do it for you. He has needed you, though all of this.”

“I know.” He just didn’t like the way it was done. He left her and went into Stick’s tent and sat down next to the cot. Stick was not asleep, but he wasn’t moving much, like after he’d been given earthbending. “Hi.” And then his plans – and none of them were ever fully-formed – abandoned him, and he said nothing.

Stick didn’t have a witty retort. His reaction times were slowed, and Matt doubted that was for appearance. “You came back.”

Matt sighed. He knew he couldn’t go forward unless he was straight with Stick, in the hope that maybe the favor would be returned. “Why did you lie to me about the Avatar?”

“Because I don’t always do the right thing,” Stick said, in a startling admission. “I do what I think is the right thing, but it’s not the same.” Despite his physical weakness, there was no hesitancy or strain in his voice. “When Raava and I are joined, I can feel all of her power. Her spirit overwhelms Black Sky, and while we can hold it, it fixes it. The corruption is suppressed, like it’s gone for good. Then she leaves and it’s back again, and I know how terrible it’s been for Black Sky, to be corrupted all the time. We don’t have the kind of purity Raava is capable of. I never want to lose it. But I’m giving up everything else.”

“T’Challa said Avatars can’t have any attachments.”

“To achieve the Avatar State, no. You have to put everything else out of your mind. You have to let go of your worries and your fear and everything that distracts you from your purpose. But working Avatars don’t have to stay in that state all the time. They only need it in big fights.”

“And the rest of the time, you would be Stick again.”

“I’ll never not be Stick,” he said, “but you’ve seen what it’s done to me, and we’re not even really joined. What do you think’s going to happen if we seal the bond, and I defeat Izo?” He reached out – a very unusual thing for Stick to do when he wasn’t hitting something, and grabbed Matt’s arm. “I asked you to find the _next_ Avatar. Not this one.”

At that moment, Matt knew precisely two things, one of which he’d known for a while, even if he’d never accepted it, and the other was new to him, because he never would have imagined it: If Stick became the Avatar, he was going to die. And Stick was scared to die.

He was, despite all indications, only human.

“Do you really have to do this?”

“Bargaining,” Stick said. “The most embarrassing stage of grief.” Because he was the only one who could carry all four elements because he was a Black Sky, and he was the only Black Sky who could resist Izo long enough to fight him. “Never was a fan of it myself.”

“I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

“You deserved to be angry with me,” Stick replied. “Have some balls, kid.”

Matt grinned but he didn’t really feel like smiling. “What do you need from me? Other than everything after Harmonic Convergence – I’ll do what I promised. What do you need right now?”

Stick gestured in the direction of the minifridge. “There’s a bottle of vodka. The good stuff.”

“Stick – “

“I’ll eat, I’ll eat.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “Just let me get up. Then we drink.”

Matt helped him sit up, because he knew Stick would never ask for it, and fetched the glider to help Stick walk to the campfire. “We need to get a lot of food in his stomach,” Matt explained. “I think we’ll be in trouble if the Avatar drinks himself to death.”

“I won’t tell,” Stick said, but Matt grabbed the bottle out of his hands anyway. “Try some. It’ll shut you up.”

The vodka was good. It was really good. The expensive stuff he only smelled on the high shelves of bars, that never came down. “Where did you get this?”

“Russians are very particular about their vodka,” Stick said, leaning a little too far back. “Don’t you know that? Aren’t you fucking one?”

“She was trained not to act Russian,” Matt said of Natasha. Since Inna didn’t add commentary, he assumed his guess was correct. “And I’m not fucking her, I’m – I don’t have to dignify that with an answer.”

“You can’t lie to me!”

“I’m not trying to lie to you!”

Inna passed him a bowl of ... whatever. Some kind of stew. Matt wasn’t paying that much attention. He only knew that when the liquor hit his stomach, it was very empty. “Thank you.” He still hadn’t eaten properly today and it smelled good. Wakanda had a long of strange food but great ways of preserving them. It was much better than the Wakandan place on 60th, where people just put sriracha on everything with such frequency that they kept bottles at each tiny table. Now he would never be able to eat there, he supposed, as he downed his soup and his bowl was refilled. “This is vegetarian, right?”

“I miss meat,” Stick said from his lawn chair before Inna could properly answer. “And booze.”

The bottle had migrated into Stick’s hand and Inna took it from him. “But you drink such дерьмо,” she said, as if she couldn’t curse around Matt (Matt assumed it was a curse).

“You lived on cabbage water and bad crackers. How do you know?”

“Uh, I think maybe you shouldn’t get between a Russian and her alcohol,” Matt said.

“You said you didn’t – “

“Clients. I know this from clients. Immigration cases.” He allowed himself one swig. “And spying on the Russian mob. And beating up the Russia mob.”

“And getting your ass kicked by the Russian mob.”

“You don’t know that!”

“If I leave you,” Inna interrupted, “will you kill each other?”

“Haven’t done it yet,” Stick assured her. “And trust me, we’ve tried.”

But Inna persisted in feeding both of them. It was the only time Matt had seen her be openly motherly, but he didn’t know her that well. But she was more easy-going, probably because she was retired, and focused her attentions on teaching bending. She didn’t carry around the host of stresses that Natasha had, being a public figure and Avenger. Natasha couldn’t imagine a future for herself, but Inna was living that future out with Stick, for however long she had him.

“I lied to her,” Stick said after she was gone.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking about?”

“You’re very obvious,” Stick replied, offering the bottle after a long gulp. “And my Black Sky ... helps ... some. You know how it feels about you.”

“Is that normal?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Matt tried to keep sipping. It was strong stuff, and went down a lot smoother than what he was used to drinking with Stick. “What did you lie about?” What Stick felt the need to confess it to Matt of all people would probably always be a mystery, but he could live with that.

“I told her I never looked for my parents.”

“Were you supposed to?”

“When I was a teenager, I guess I turned into a bit of a brat. Started standing up to Izo a bit, but not in an intelligent way. So Izo-sensei told me that I should just go home.” He grabbed the bottle back from Matt, but held it between his legs. “I was eighteen. I hadn’t seen either of my parents in twelve years. My mother was dead. My father was back in the states, running some business in Iowa. He had a new wife, new family, two new kids.”

“He turned you away?”

“Had I stuck around, I think he would have owned up to it, told his wife about his other kid, the bastard one he had out of wedlock with an army nurse. But we didn’t get that far.” Stick leaned his head all the way back in the lawn chair, with his head facing the sky. “I was an adult who made it to America all by myself and ambushed him in his office, but he just treated me the same way he treated me when I went off with Izo the first time. Like a useless cripple. He said he would set me up with a place to stay, but he meant a home. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be treated like I was broken. If I was going to be kind, I’d say he didn’t know any better. But fuck that. He was an asshole. So I told him where to shove it. Then I set his new car on fire and went back to Izo. Never tried to contact him again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck do you have to be sorry about?” Stick hated pity. “Not every father is a fuckin’ sap who refuses to take a dive because he wants to impress his kid.”

“Leave my father out of this,” Matt said, quickly but firmly. “Izo must have known what would happen.”

“He didn’t live this long by making stupid decisions.”

And so Stick went right back to him, no doubt seeking the fatherly approval he was denied. Matt decided not to press him on this soft spot. “What are you going to do about Izo?”

“What do you mean? I’m going to kick his ass.”

“You’re going to fight to the death.”

“I never said that.” Stick took another long drink, then shoved the bottle in Matt’s lap. “He might kill me. That could happen. But it can’t go the other way.” Matt didn’t force it out of him, since Stick was feeling so talky. He waited for Stick to say, “Lama Migyur made me give up killing.”

“The Avatar can’t kill?”

“The Avatar can do whatever it takes,” Stick explained, “but to be the Avatar – to qualify for Raava’s light – your intentions have to be pure. I’ve killed a fucking lot of people, but some people keep insisting I should stop. You know, pussies.”

“And Tibetan airbenders.”

“ _And_ Tibetan airbenders,” Stick parroted. “Why? You want me to kill Izo? Where’s your moral high ground now?”

“I – I’m just surprised,” Matt said, already knowing that was inadequate, but the alcohol was making his responses slower and more honest. “I know this must be hard for you.”

“Killing was never easy, even when it had to be done.” But there were chinks in Stick’s armor, and they showed up in his voice, and not just because of the liquor. “You think you can deaden yourself to it, but you can’t.”

“I know.” And this time, Matt really did know. “I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that.”

“I mean – I think, if Raava chose you over Izo, she must have known all this. That you would find a better way. We can confess, Stick. We can be forgiven.”

“You really believe that.”

“Yes I fucking believe it!” Matt wasn’t shouting but he did put more force into his voice. “Because I need to. To go – to go on doing things, being a person, I have to believe it.”

Stick didn’t answer him immediately. The remains of the portable stove fire were dying out, and it didn’t produce the correct crackling sounds of real wood, but Matt wasn’t much of a camper anyway. Being in the Spirit Grove was soothing in other ways. It made him calmer, and slower to anger. Maybe it made Stick more comfortable talking, or maybe these were just words that Stick needed to say, for one reason or another, to someone, and that someone was Matt, the only person he really trusted.

“Izo did so much for me,” Stick said, with a bit of a slur now. “He’s the reason I’m anyone at all.”

“Stick, he wants to destroy the world.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way,” Stick replied. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m still going to fight him. Even if I can’t become the Avatar, if I’m not strong enough – I have to. I’m the only one who can.”

“The Avengers will help you.”

He shook his head. “It’s different. It shouldn’t be them. It should be me.”

“I should tell you that you don’t have to do it by yourself,” Matt said, “but I’ve been given that advice a lot and I’m bad at taking it.” His limbs felt heavy, but not because he wanted to sleep. What could he do about too much alcohol? More alcohol, probably. He took the bottle back from Stick and swallowed another mouthful. “I’m sorry for telling you I thought I was wasting my time here.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“I was just mad,” Matt said. “And this is the longest amount of time I’ve been away from Juan or Foggy in ... since we adopted Juan. Is that why I can’t be the Avatar? Too many attachments?”

“I don’t know.” It really sounded like Stick didn’t. “I don’t know everything.”

“I always thought you did.” Matt wasn’t sure if he was joking. There was a time when he really believed that, and it lasted well after Stick left him in the orphanage. “Stick, can I say that I’m proud of you? For everything?”

“You better fucking not.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Am I going to have to put up with this with the next Avatar?”

“Put up with that?”

“The drinking and cursing and hitting. Of me. Usually on my head.”

Stick snatched the vodka back from Matt’s lap. “I’ll do my best.”

**********************

Despite the advancements in technology in Wakanda, nobody had invented a hangover cure yet – that, or Matt’s tent didn’t come with it. He slithered out of bed and into the shower, hearing less movement from the camp than usual for the hour. He felt too sick for breakfast so he tried to meditate, but his pounding headache prevented him from finding much serenity. Even his Black Sky was unusually subdued. He fell back to sleep while meditating, and was woken when his head dipped far enough to pull his whole body forward, but he felt better after getting more sleep.

Stick was still out, but Inna was heating breakfast. “Here.” She offered him some local pastry, really just bread and sugar, but it filled his stomach up nicely. “He won’t know how to say goodbye.”

“How are you so good at reading people?”

“It was what I was trained for,” she said. “But having sight helps.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with the White Lotus, but will you stay with Stick?”

“For as long as I can.”

Stick was only up and moving – but not very talkative – when Fury arrived with Howard. Matt wondered if Fury had been told, or just picked up on a vibe. He was a guy who could get a lot with very little information to work with.

Matt had brought nothing with him except his rosary. He liked his new Wakandan clothes better than anything he had worn before, particularly in this type of weather. He had nothing else to pack.

“Are you going to get tattooed before you go?” Fury asked him. “Because I heard it takes a long time. Three days.”

“Is this a Wakandan thing?”

“Stick said you mastered airbending.”

Stick hadn’t told him that, precisely, but that was Stick. Matt blushed. “How visible are they?”

“How badly do you want to stay a trial lawyer? Because juries will notice the giant arrow on your head pointing to your dick.”

“Fantastic. I’ll sign up for that as soon as I get back to New York.” He heard a loud groan. “And here comes the mighty Avatar.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Stick said, stumbling a little bit on the grass. “Kids today.”

Fury ignored him. “Mr. Murdock, the Wakandan royal family has offered you use of one of their private jets for your return to The US. I recommend the liquor cabinet.”

Matt put his hand on his stomach. “No. No more alcohol.”

“I see you got a lot of training done while I was gone,” Fury said, looking at Stick wandering around. “If you want to catch your flight, we should hurry.”

Inna wasn’t shy about hugging Matt, but he only stepped towards Stick when Stick shoved his hand into the air and the earth between them rose to block Matt – and also hit him in the face. “Nope.”

“You can’t blame me for trying.” But he didn’t feel the joke in his voice when he said it. “Good luck, Stick. I hope somehow we’ll see each other again.”

“We’ve never seen each other,” Stick said. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll leave it open to interpretation.”

Stick didn’t want to talk anymore. Matt knew that. He didn’t want to push him. He didn’t want to hurt him. “Goodbye.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Stick said. “And you – you’ll do fine, too. Now get out of my hair.”

Matt climbed up the ladder onto Howard’s back, but it wasn’t until they were off the ground that he said, “I love you,” in a whisper, knowing full well that Stick would hear it.

_He did_ , Black Sky said to him. _He does_.

**********************

Fury didn’t ask anything of Matt until they reached the tarmac, where the jet was waiting. Matt was grateful, and wiped his eyes as his feet hit pavement for the first time in months. Zuri was waiting for him.

“His Highness regrets that he cannot be here to see you off. He has matters of state to attend to.” He was carrying a much shorter staff. No, it wasn’t a staff. It was a cane, and Zuri raised it and held it out in front of him. “He wishes to present you with a gift.”

“I didn’t do anything to deserve it,” Matt said. Even though it had the rubber grip and the extra paint at the tip that was probably red, he knew it was not an ordinary cane. The material was a local specialty of some kind, a very refined aluminum, and it only took him a few moments to find the hidden latch. The top popped up, doubling it in size, and it expanded into a full glider, with nylon sails. “What color is it?”

“Red,” Zuri said. “He said he thought you might need it.”

“I really don’t know how to thank him.”

“You’ve fought at his side for years,” Zuri said, even though he really only meant a few major Avengers incidents. “And you helped the Avatar. That will suffice.”

Matt really doubted if he’d done anything for Stick in that moment, but he didn’t want to argue with Zuri. “Thank you.”

They shook hands. He didn’t shake Fury’s hand; he could sense that Fury was not the kind of guy who did that sort of thing. “I’ll see you at the Tower?”

“If it goes well,” was all Fury said as Matt bordered the plane.


	14. Foggy Nelson, Avenger

Marci deserved a day off – from everything, at the moment, but in general, so she gave herself the first afternoon where she cut out while work was still on the desk since ... never, probably. She just wanted to go home, kick off her shoes, and soak her swollen feet in the mini-foot massage machine Foggy bought her.

Which is why, of course, when she got to the apartment,  _ Matt _ had to be there.

He was at her kitchen table, shoveling leftovers in his mouth, and wasn’t he supposed to hear her coming from like, a mile away, like Foggy said he could? But he didn’t spring to his feet until she opened the door. “Sorry. I um, ate some of your food.”

He had a key, and his kid lived here, so she supposed it wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t exactly an intruder, even though he looked like a prison escapee who’d been living in abandoned house for a month, beard and all. “Why are you dressed like you’re in jail?”

“What?”

“Your outfit. It’s orange.”

“Oh.” He was wearing a shirt and matching pants in a bright orange combination, and flip-flops on his feet. “No one told me. I guess – this is just what they wear in Wakanda.”

“Oh, great.” She dumped her keys in the basket. “We have two showers in this apartment. I don’t care which one you use. And the washing machine is in the hallway closet.” 

“Okay.” He seemed rather pliant. Maybe he was just tired, but not tired enough not to bus his food. It was so weird to see him without glasses. And looking like a homeless beggar. “Hello, by the way. Sorry for intruding. I just got in and – I wanted to see Juan. And Foggy.” He paused nervously in the kitchen doorway. “Sorry about everything.”

“Did you call them?”

He shrugged. “No phone.”

“Of course. Now go scrub Africa off of you. Can you smell which soaps are antibacterial?”

He gave her a bit of that Murdock grin. “I can tell.”

Matt disappeared into the guest shower, and Marci texted Foggy and Juan. Juan was at school and had his phone off, but Foggy insisted he’d be there as soon as he was out of court. This gave her time to forget about their home invader and change out of her work clothes, which felt better and better each day. She was ready to ditch stockings altogether, rather than keep buying larger sizes, but she’d never seen her boss and senior partner without so much as a hair out of place, so Marci had to keep up the professional veneer until her water broke.   

She wasn’t fast moving with but neither was Matt, who did take a long shower, and emerged wearing Foggy’s laundry day clothing, which sagged on him. He did locate the tiny washing machine unit, but working it was another matter.

“I’ll do it,” she said, making no reference to why he needed assistance with the display. “Put the electric kettle on. It’s just a plug-in.”

He found that and the box of tea packets, and sat across from her at the table when it was ready to serve. He always looked so damn vulnerable when he tried to look in her direction, though she knew for a fact that he’d once used that adorable expression to bed many a co-ed, and trick people into a false sense of security, as if he was some just some harmless blind guy. He did seem unusually quiet; usually he was uptight and intense. “How are you feeling?”

“Pregnant,” she said. “How was Wakanda? Did you see their superhero king?”

“I did, actually,” Matt said. “I knew him from the Avengers, but we were never formally introduced. I mean, out of costume. But we didn’t spend a lot of time together.”

“What did you do that justified an extended leave from Nelson and Murdock? You know, that business you own?”

“I mastered airbending.”

“What does that get you, a higher pay grade with the Avengers?”

He smiled. “It’s not something I do for pay. You know that.” He fidgeted in his chair, not touching his tea. “You seem better.”

“What can you tell from your super-invasive powers?”

“You’re holding down your food,” he said. “You’ve gained weight. The rest, those are just the normal things I pick up from people. You sound healthier.”

“The last time I saw you, you were in a coma and your head was covered in wires,” she said. “So I guess we’re both better.”

“I don’t remember anything between the attack in the apartment and waking up at the North Pole.”

“You weren’t a stimulating conversationalist,” she said. “Thanks, for the way, for the heads-up about twin earthbenders.”

Matt gave her his best guilty frown. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Juan told me. He didn’t think it was a big deal, the whole Black Sky thing. But teenagers don’t think anything adults care about is a big deal.”

“Yeah, I’m learning that.”

“He told me you cut his arm off,” she said. “I suppose he’ll bring that up again when he’s old enough to drive and wants a car.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that. Please don’t give him the idea.”

“Give me a reason.”

“You’ll probably pay for the car.”

“Great reason.” She dumped the sugar in her tea. Somehow, her body had replaced a craving for alcohol with a craving for sweet stuff. “So did you finish your mysterious mission that I can’t know anything about?”

He hung his head. “I just wanted to see my family.” 

There was so much exhaustion but also so much warmth in his voice that Marci realized he must be including her, so she said, “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.” And with that, they had nothing left to say, wrapped up in their own complicated worlds.

**********************

Foggy raced back from court. He was actually sweating. “Matt. Christ.” He pulled the pliable Matt into one of his bear hugs. “You know you look like a hobo, right?”

“I have a general idea.”

“Are you okay?” Foggy pulled back to take a more measured look at him. “Did they feed you? I suppose they did.”

“Yes, Foggy. They fed me.”

“You look exhausted.”

“It was a long flight,” Matt said. “You know how I am on planes.”

“He helped himself to our leftovers,” Marci announced. 

“I think we can serve something better than leftovers tonight,” Foggy replied. “We’re celebrating.”

They barely had time to open the takeout apps on their various phones before Juan bounded in the door and threw himself at Matt. “Dad!” All of his moody teenager vibes were gone and his voice sounded much younger than it usually did when he was caught up in the excitement. 

Either because Matt was exceptionally strong, or because of some weird bending thing, Matt was still able to lift Juan off the ground and hold him in his arms. “Hey.” Matt struggled with words much more when he was emotional. “Good to see you.” He ran his fingers through Juan’s hair. “You need a haircut before school starts.”

“You have a beard! A real beard!” Juan said after he was set down. 

“Does it look nice?”

With the very same enthusiasm and the brutal honesty that came with still being a kid talking to his father, Juan answered, “It makes you look old.”

Matt laughed. They all did. “I’m not greying, am I? Because I don’t think anyone else here would tell me.”

“No. But you’re tan. You’re really tan.” Juan seemed to take some pleasure in describing Matt’s appearance for him. “And hairy.” Matt usually shaved his chest, but there was hair poking out above the collar of his shirt. “Can you tell me where you were?”

“It’s better if I don’t. Let’s just say we both went camping this summer.”

“Did they make you take instructional swim?”

“I already know how to swim.” Matt qualified it. “Not  _ well _ , but I can do it. My dad took me to the Y for swimming lessons. Also it’s one of those skills they want Avengers to have.” He swatted Juan’s hair, which was longer than Marci had ever seen it, but so was Matt’s. “And since I can hear three stomachs rumbling, let’s focus on what we want for dinner, okay?”

Around Juan, Matt was transformed into the warmest version of his personality. With all of them at the table, he looked like it was fucking Christmas or something. Foggy came alive with more energy than he usually had after working a long day without his law partner to do his share of the work, and he didn’t go nuts over having Matt back in any way that was particularly abnormal, so Marci was happy about that. His absence made a dent in her life, however unintended, and she was glad things might get back to normal, though the hope for that was awfully slim.

After eating, Matt faded entirely, no longer able to hide his exhaustion in front of his kid. “Okay, I might regret this,” Marci said to him when Foggy and Juan were out of the room, “but why don’t you stay tonight? Juan’s still settled in and I don’t think I could peel you off that couch if I tried.”

“No, I can – “ Matt yawned. “I can go. It’s not a long trip.”

“There’s nothing in your fridge. Foggy emptied it. So you’ll have to go shopping.”

Matt tried to sit up, and made it about halfway. “Did you miss me?”

“I missed having some semblance of a normal life,” she replied, and threw a blanket at him. “And no more casting weird spells on my husband!”

“It wasn’t – “ But Matt relented. He didn’t have the energy to explain it and she didn’t have the energy to listen. “I’ll try my best.”

**********************

In the morning, Foggy barely had time to drop off Matt and Juan and get them set up in their own apartment with groceries (because Matt looked exhausted and just a little sunburned) before he got a text message from an unidentified sender.

_ 2 pm Avengers Tower, Fl 46. No Murdock _ .

Foggy didn’t really have time to be suspicious about it. There were too many possibilities and he was still on the high of having Matt back, mitigated by his usual concern for Matt’s health. Matt looked okay, but he wouldn’t be rushing back to work, though he would try. They hadn’t gotten into any detailed discussions of what happened with Stick in Wakanda in front of Juan or Marci, and Foggy wondered if they ever actually would. 

“Franklin Nelson,” he told the elevator. This wasn’t exactly his first trip here. He’d once vomited bourbon into what he was pretty sure was Bruce Banner’s private office trash bin during a White Lotus after party; he was never clear on how that situation was resolved. 

“ _ Franklin P. Nelson. Security Clearance: Temporary Override _ .” The elevator chose the forty-sixth floor without him putting anything in. It was nice to see Tony finally put the braille labels back in anyway. Foggy checked his phone through the nauseatingly fast ride up. 

It was a floor he had never been to before, but it was similar to Stark’s typical design – floor-to-ceiling windows, rooms under-decorated and mostly segmented by glass walls that Matt hated, and holographic touch screens he hated even more. Past the empty concierge desk, he spotted a long conference table, with Nick Fury at the opposite end of it.

Between the two of them were like,  _ all  _ of the Avengers.

“Oh shit,” Foggy wasn’t able to stop himself from saying. “Am I ... at an Avengers meeting?”

“You’re not here to sue me again?” Tony Stark was slumped in his seat and looked bored. “Did you see the elevators?”

“Yes, thank you for getting back in line with legislation from 1990,” Foggy said. 

“Why is he here?” Tony said to Fury.

“Because he knows more about this mission than you do,” Fury replied. “Take a seat, Mr. Nelson.”

Okay, now Foggy was a  _ little _ excited, but he tried to contain it.

Fury gestured to the touch screen, which flipped to a picture of the Spirit Portal in the North Pole. “We’re here to talk about Harmonic Convergence,” he said.

“Oh, is that coming up?” Thor asked, and everyone stared at him. “Do you celebrate it here?”

“It’s not a celebration,” Natasha said. “How do you know about it?”

“Because we ... have one?” Thor looked confused. “Harmonic Convergence is a time of spiritual alignment where the doors between the Spirit and Material Worlds own and the Avatar makes sure that balance of nature is maintained by defeating the spirit of darkness. It happens every once in awhile. Did you not learn about it in school?” His tone of voice almost seemed to add, “Duh?” to the end of it.

“How often is ‘every once in awhile?’” Bruce asked.

“Every ten thousand years,” Fury said.

“Yes! This is basic metaphysics. If the Avatar of Raava wins, the world continues as normal and if Vaatu wins, your dimension is destroyed. This not a complicated matter. I learned about it when I was a young boy. The Avatar came to the palace and explained it.”

“You have an Avatar?” Natasha asked. “You know him?”

“Of course.” He had his ‘duh, puny mortals’ face on. “I think she’s about ... my father’s age? Avatars live a long time. I don’t know her well. She doesn’t get involved in Asgardian politics. But if you overstep the boundaries of the Spirit World, you’ll meet her. When my father was young, he tried to enter a closed portal for some reason or other and she set him right. Since then they’ve kept a polite distance from each other.”

Foggy couldn’t help himself. “How did she do that?” 

“She leveled his summer palace. And then she sunk the continent it was on into the sea.”

“Well, we don’t have one,” Fury said, trying to keep the mission on track. “And Harmonic Convergence is in about a week.”

“Oh,” Thor said. “ _ Oh _ .” He looked around. “I’m not sure we have the forces to defeat Vaatu on our own, but we can certainly try.”

Tony raised his hand. “I’d like to use my ‘no portals’ veto and sit this one out.”

“We agreed that that’s not a real thing,” Steve said. “If we don’t defeat Vaatu, the world will literally be destroyed.”

“His suit might not work in the Spirit World,” Natasha said. “Navigation definitely won’t.”

“See? Right there. And I don’t even know what we’re talking about,” Tony said. “Why have I never heard of this?”

“Because you’re not in the Order of the White Lotus,” Nick said. “If it makes you feel better, neither am I.”

“What’s the White Lotus?” Tony asked. When he got no response, he said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., how many people just squirmed meaningfully?”

“Tony, don’t start,” Steve said. “It’s a philosophical society. Nick isn’t supposed to know about it.”

“Seems like it’s mostly a drinking club to me,” Fury said.

“You can’t even get drunk,” Tony said to Steve. “Why are you in it?”

“Because I was at Normandy and some people thought that was commendable! It’s like being knighted but less relevant.”

“It is actually mostly a drinking club,” Sam said. “I’ll own up to that.”

“You,” Tony said to Foggy. “That’s why you’re here. You’re in the secret club that apparently I was not invited to.”

“That’s because I was sponsored! And because I went to the Spirit World and met the lion turtle thingy – “

Vision raised his hand. “Can I ask what a lion turtle is?”

“Obviously it’s half-lion, half-turtle,” Fury said. “I would think that would be self-explanatory.

“For the record I have never met one,” Steve said. “I have never been to the Spirit World or through any kind of portal or had any dealings with animals crossed with other animals. I got my tile and I show up when people ask me to come.” 

“G-d  _ damnit _ ,” Tony said. “Is anyone not in the secret flower drinking club?”

Vision, Clint, Bruce, and Thor raised their hands, but Thor was shaking his. “I know  _ of _ it. But I think it is more philosophically-oriented on Asgard. You have to meditate a lot. I just fall asleep.”

“I do that too,” Foggy admitted. “Because sitting quietly makes you sleepy, right?”

“Yes!”

“I am so bad at it.”

“Very boring.”

“Right?”

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Fury said to the room, “would you please direct your attention to the potentially world-ending crisis that is our topic of discussion today?”

“Yeah. Um, why am I here?” Foggy raised his hand. “Because if you’re saying I’m an Avenger, I’m not going to contradict you, but I am  _ not _ an Avenger. And I’m gonna be busy with stuff with –  _ Oh _ . That’s why Matt isn’t here.”

“Yes,” Fury said, then turned to the others. “We’re going to be fighting one of our own.”

**********************

When Foggy left, Matt napped on top of the covers of his bed, badly. New York was impossibly loud and its noises and smells persistent at stabbing away at his brain. But he was home, and with Juan, and there was some comfort in that, in having Juan playing video games on the couch just beyond Matt’s door. Black Sky wanted to make sure Juan never went away again, and Matt replied,  _ No promises _ .

They went for lunch and Matt asked about camp, and staying with Foggy and Marci, and going to see his grandparents, and all of the questions he should have known the answers to by now. 

“What did you do in Africa?”

“Meditated,” Matt said. 

“Did you get to meet Black Panther?”

“You mean as the king and not the Avenger? Yes. But we didn’t talk long. He’s a busy guy. He has a country to run. He wasn’t involved in what we were doing. He’s not an airbender.”

“What is he?”

“A waterbender. But that’s a state secret, so,” and he put his finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”

At dessert Juan put his head down, right above his bowl of ice cream, and said, “What did it feel like?”

“What did what feel like?”

“Foggy said you got separated from your Black Sky.”

“His name is Mike,” Matt said. “But he doesn’t really like the name. And no, we didn’t get separated. We got pulled apart, but not separated.”

“What did  _ that _ feel like?”

“Foggy shouldn’t have told you,” Matt said. “Look – it’s not going to happen to you. It’s not important.”

“You don’t have to treat me like a little kid, you know. Because I’m not.”

Matt sighed. “It’s not important for you to worry about. Only one person can do it and he only cares about people who Stick cares about. But if you want me to answer, yes, it was very painful.”

“Stick doesn’t like me?”

“Stick doesn’t really like anybody,” he said. “He cares about you because I care about you, but that’s about it.”

Juan had the nuance to tell that Matt didn’t want to go down this path of conversation anymore. “What was the North Pole like?”

“Cold.”

“That’s it?”

“Snow doesn’t really smell like anything,” Matt answered, which was a slight exaggeration. It was just a faint scent. “When you have an empty field of snow, I can’t really see it the way I see other things. I need sound waves. Like this.” He picked up his spoon and rapped it against the wooden table. “Now I have a better idea of the distance between the wood and me, and the shape of the spoon. I can tell what type of wood it is and what kind of finisher they used on it from the smell. I can tell it’s old from the cracks in it. But with snow everywhere, I get none of that. I don’t see anything. It’s like jumping out of a plane or flying with a glider – I’m too high up, so all I get is wind and cold air. I have no idea what’s beneath me.”

“Is it scary?”

“It’s a little scary,” he admitted, though he would never say that to anyone else. “But, you know, daredevils are known for doing crazy stunts. And you have to be willing to do some really crazy things to work with the Avengers.” He stuck the table one more time. “And before you say it, no, you can’t be an Avenger until you graduate from college. With honors. From a double major.”

“Dad!”

“And maybe some grad school.”

“I never get to do anything!”

“You got to go to summer camp. I never went to summer camp. I used to read in the basement of St. Agnes because it was cooler down there. There were no jet skis in there.” Just stored Christmas decorations.

“It’s not the same.” Juan unsuccessfully speared at his melted ice cream remains with a fork. “If I get a perfect score on my SATs, can I get bending?”

Matt raised his eyebrows. There was a reason they sent him to a camp to study for the SATs two years ahead of when he would actually need to take them. “Yes.”

“Deal?”

“Deal?”

“A serious deal, Dad.”

Matt crossed himself, because it was the kind of promise that Juan would accept. “I promise.”

**********************

Foggy called after work, but didn’t come over to their apartment. Matt understood; even though there was concern in Foggy’s voice for Matt’s health (mostly mental, if Black Sky could be described as a mental issue), Foggy needed to be alone with Marci, giving her the attention she deserved, and taking a little space for himself.

“Aunt Marci’s cool,” Juan explained, because sometime during the summer Marci had become an aunt to him. “I don’t understand why she can’t tell people she’s pregnant. Isn’t she like, a super lawyer?”

“People think women who go on maternity leave can be replaced because they’re not coming back,” Matt explained. “Sometimes they don’t, even if they plan to. She doesn’t want anyone to look down on her for deciding to be a mom. Some people see that as weak.”

“But Foggy can take care of them, right? Can I name one?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. And that’s really a question for Marci.”

They were back to video games – or, more accurately, Juan was playing video games, and Matt was mashing buttons in what he was told was a very basic fighting game. He even won a round. 

Juan, as always, couldn’t stay on one topic too long. “If Harmonic Convergence happens, and there’s no Avatar, what’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. But either way, we’ll be together.”

“What about Uncle Foggy? Can he join us? I mean, if the world is ending anyway, because there’s no Avatar, can he join us? Can they both join us?”

“The world’s not going to end.”

Juan paused. “Pio says that’s what happens if Vaatu wins.”

“Vaatu’s not going to win.”

“Pio says it could happen.”

“I know better than Pio.  _ We _ know better than Pio.” He didn’t bother to specify if he meant him and his Black Sky or him and Juan. It didn’t really matter anyway. 

If the world ended, nothing would matter.


	15. Good Cop, Bad Cop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to LachesisMeg for agreeing to beta the rest of this fic!

Juan went back to school on Monday. Foggy called Matt and told him he didn’t have to come in if he wasn’t back at full, and that Natasha wanted to meet with both of them anyway, so they might as well do it in his apartment. Matt had already shaved for church the day before but he made an effort to at least look professional to his guests, despite very little sleep the night before.

Both Foggy and Natasha had their own keys to his place, and Matt was unsuccessfully meditating when they came by. It didn’t bother him, really, that Foggy might know something that he didn’t. It wasn’t like he wasn’t keeping almost everything that had happened to him since they parted at the North Pole from Foggy.

“You didn’t get tattooed?” This was the first time Natasha had actually seem him – in the flesh – in months.

“I heard the tattoos were not ... appropriate for court.”

“You mean all the arrows that that spirit Aang has?” Foggy had never seen a master airbender in person – none of them had. And he had less experience in the Spirit World, where ghosts had them, than Matt. “Because yeah, that’s going a little bit beyond what’s fixable with makeup.”

“How’s Juan?” Natasha asked, and Matt realized there was a reason she was asking.

“He’s okay.” He was very protective of Juan, and so was his Black Sky. Especially now, when they were both tense. “So. I assume you have some plan you’re not telling me about.”

Foggy squirmed and Natasha just said, “Yes.”

“Good,” he replied. “I mean that. Do what you have to do.”

“That’s what’s in question.” Natasha was taking the lead, possibly because Foggy didn’t want to. “I think we – the Avengers, and Foggy – need to know how far you want us to go. To stop you.”

If Natasha hadn’t been much more than a friend and someone Black Sky knew and liked he might have struck her, with a flash of anger that strong. Matt knew it was a practical question, but he’d already been separated once. He didn’t know how being kept away from _all_ the Black Skies would feel. He needed a moment to refocus, and both his guests gave him that time. “If you kill me, it won’t help. Izo’s been trapping the spirits of dead Black Skies for decades. Maybe centuries.”

“I assume that was never on the table,” Foggy said, sounding very unsure of Natasha’s precise direction of questioning.

“The more Black Skies Izo has, the more powerful he gets. And he’s been collecting them. He needs them all.”

“Except Stick. He can’t get Stick. That’s why he needs to kill him instead.”

“Stick, I assume, has his own plans,” Natasha said. “You’re our concern.”

“No,” he said. It was hard to stay as collected as he wanted to be right now. He thought he was past the pain and turmoil Izo had caused, but just the specter of it was getting him worked up. “Your concern has to be Juan. If I can’t protect him, someone else has to. Everything has to be about him.”

Neither of them wanted to disagree with him. Foggy certainly didn’t, but Natasha was really the one in charge. “We have a facility,” she said. “It was made to control Bruce. It’s in Manhattan, close but not part of the Avenger’s Tower.”

“Has it been tested?”

“Juan’s not the Hulk,” Foggy interjected. “We can’t put him in prison. He’s not an adult. He can’t consent to that.”

“We’re his parents. We make decisions for him,” Matt said. Not that he liked the idea of being locked up, either. “If he wants to go to Izo because he’s being controlled by Izo, he’s not going to like _anything_ we try to do to stop him, so I think we should take the best option. Lock him up, drug him if you have to – anything but permanent harm. Since I can’t – ” He paused. He couldn’t let himself admit that he couldn’t be responsible for his actions, that he might not be there to save his own son. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, okay? And I’m much more dangerous than Juan. So you have to focus on him. If I try to free him, you have to stop me. If I fight you, you have to fight me back. I just – I can’t know about it ahead of time. It’s already driving me crazy.”

“Agreed.” Foggy was eager to have the conversation over, anyway. He didn’t sound thrilled with it, either. It felt like making a will or deciding on a coffin. “Matt, you’re out of the loop.”

“I just hate that I can’t ... ” But he couldn’t end that sentence, either. He didn’t want to be a monster, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. “Can we, um, wrap this up?”

“Yeah,” Foggy jumped to say before Natasha could contradict him. “Yeah, sure.”

“Call me,” Natasha said, “if anything happens. Or you just need to talk. Or not even talk.” She meant it. Natasha always meant what she said. He loved that about her.

“Okay.” It was a vague sort of promise; he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to do it.

After Natasha left, Foggy took him to lunch to get him out of the apartment.

“Let me go back to work,” Matt said. “I can do something.”

“Hey, remember when you were working and parkouring and Juan was like, eight?” Foggy said, trying to keep both their spirits up. “And you had _no_ time?”

“This isn’t better.”

“You fell asleep at your desk a lot. If you think I called you on it, let me just set the record straight. I gave you _way_ more passes than I should have. And you’re going to pay it back.”

Matt couldn’t help but be a little amused. “How am I going to do that? It sounds like you already have a plan.”

“Uh, I’m leaving the office in your hands while I’m on paternity leave – which I’m taking, by the way – and I expect it to actually be an operating firm when I get back. And I might need to turn part of the office into a daycare center.”

“Sharpe has an obligation – ”

“Yeah, yeah, and she probably would put our kids up in a daycare center. A fancy one. With strangers taking care of her grandchildren.” Foggy finished his beer. “This is so weird. I’ve raised a kid before but I skipped over a huge part of it, so it’s like it doesn’t count.”

“You’re going to be a great dad.”

“I really hope neither of them likes soccer. Because I am pretty sick of it.”

“And I bet all of the coaches remember you.”

“I did threaten to sue a _lot_ of them,” Foggy said. “But it’s not like I ever actually went through with it!”

“We did with the Tae Kwon Do guys.”

“We had a very legitimate grievance. And I don’t remember you complaining all the way. I’m surprised they didn’t get daredeviled.”

“I would never do that.”

“I don’t know. Juan hasn’t met with any college admissions counselors yet. We’re urban, upwardly-mobile dads. Shouldn’t we be pulling out every stop? I mean I heard usually parents just try to bribe them with pies but we could take it up a notch.”

Despite being tense, tired, and feeling a strange buzz under his skin that made him want to be angry, Matt laughed.

**********************

At some point, Matt noticed that time had slowed to a crawl.

He knew this wasn’t actually true – or he was pretty sure it wasn’t, because people’s voices weren’t lower and his clock still worked, but there were just too many hours in the day. He wanted to spend them all with Juan, but Juan had school, and there were portions of the night when Juan was asleep, and Foggy was in his own apartment, and Matt was alone with the sirens and the downstairs neighbor with the dripping sink and he couldn’t sleep through any of it, but lacked the desire to do anything about it.

Foggy gave him some files to look over to get him back into the swing of things, but Matt zoned out on the screen reader more often than he could focus. So he did the only other thing he knew was safe to do with his restless hours, and that was go to church, where the itchiness of his temper did not abate, but at least did not seem to grow in the presence of the altar and the incense and the softly-burning candles.

“How are you, Matthew?” Lantom said, a distinct tone of concern in his voice. If Matt just showed up with bruises or something in a cast, he didn’t ask. Now he was asking.

Matt tried to remember when he’d showered last, and for a moment, he couldn’t. The days and nights blended together. He checked his clothing – he smelled okay. His hair was scruffy but that wasn’t abnormal. Maybe he was more disheveled than he thought. “Okay. Haven’t been sleeping a lot, can’t focus on work, so ...”

So he went to church in afternoon, when he knew it would be quiet, because the people from Mass were gone and there was nothing on the church schedule until evening bible study. He’d checked.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

So it was that obvious. “Two days, I think. I’m not sure. I might have drifted off. When I get really restless, but I’m not working on anything in particular, I don’t have a focus, so my senses sort of ... they get out of whack.”

Father Lantom knew Matt wasn’t here for Confession, or Matt would have gone straight into the stall. He was used to being patient, and Matt scrambled for something to say – anything to fill the space. He tapped his fingers against the metal of his cane. “There’s something bad happening but – it’s a lot. I don’t want to go into all of it. Have you heard of Harmonic Convergence?”

“Unless that’s the name of choir, no.”

Matt smiled. “It’s a bad name for um, this thing coming. With Black Sky. Few days. Maybe less.” He gestured, but it was empty. “There’s a lot to it, but I don’t want to talk about all the details. Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right, Matthew.” Lantom uncrossed his arms and sat down next to him, so he wasn’t looking over him. “If you came here for solitude, I can oblige.”

They both knew that wasn’t the case. “I think – I’m sure that when this happens, I’m not going to be in control of myself. I mean literally, someone’s going to control my mind. He’s going to make me fight my friends. The Avengers. Everyone.”

“Unfortunately, I am familiar with the concept of mind control,” Lantom said. “Some of my parishioners were affected by Killgrave all those years ago. They still feel guilty. But you know that sin requires intention.”

“Yes.”

“If you can’t make choices, you’re not accumulating sin for yourself,” Lantom reminded him. “No more so than I would be guilty of drunkenness if someone forced alcohol down my throat. I would _be_ drunk, but I wouldn’t go to Confession for it.” He waited for Matt to let that settle in his brain. “How do you know all this?”

“It’s – complicated, but there’s this guy – he can control Black Skies. Even from afar.”

“I’m sorry – is that the spirit or the person who has the spirit?”

“Both. We’re not – we can’t be separated. We would die.” His hands were shaking again. He took a breath to will them to stop, but they didn’t. “He tried – months ago – to pull us apart, to hurt me, because he wanted to get to someone else, and he thought this was a way to do it. And it _really_ hurt. But he didn’t go all the way. He didn’t want me dead.”

“And that’s where you’ve been? Recovering while in capable hands?”

Matt nodded. “I’m still not back to what I was. He said – not him, the man who saved me – that I might never recover. Actually, he just said I wouldn’t.”

“That’s not quite the bedside manner I would prefer.”

This elicited a genuine laugh. “He’s not exactly known for it. But he was the only one who could help me, and he did. So when Izo – that’s the other guy, the bad guy – calls for my Black Sky, I’ll go with him. It.” He flinched. “I gave it a name. Spirits don’t really like names, but I gave him one anyway. Michael.”

“Your confirmation name, correct?”

Matt nodded. “Juan’s always had a name for his, but their relationship is different. But it’s arbitrary. Like imposing our ideas of how to distinguish people from people onto spirits. They don’t understand; they don’t need that system. They don’t understand people. They just want to be close. We want to be together. With other Black Skies. With the people we love. It – it drive us crazy.”

“Does it keep you up at night?”

“No. Yes, but it’s in the background. It’s hard to describe. Everything about this – I can’t really tell you.”

“In the past, when we’ve discussed this,” Lantom explained, “I believe that you said you couldn’t talk directly to it. But I could be mistaken.”

“I wasn’t good at it. Because of everything that happened, it’s better now. But usually it’s not words. I have to filter him out to have any focus at all.”

“Can I ask what it’s saying now? That is, if it has anything to say.”

Matt put his hands in his lap, palms upright, and took a deep breath. Black Sky didn’t have a good set of words to repeat at the moment. Matt had to sort out the emotions and try to translate them. “We’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“He wants to be together, with all the other Black Skies, at Harmonic Convergence. But if we go, we might die. Juan might die. We might hurt people along the way.”

“What were to happen if all the Black Sky spirits were united in this ... Harmonic Convergence event?”

“We would destroy the world.”

Father Lantom’s response was better than Matt expected. He didn’t scoff at him, however unintentionally. He was a listener who was used to weird things. He had been in Manhattan when aliens came out of a hole in the sky and tried to conquer the world, or at least some of the five boroughs. Maybe he could handle this.

“There’s not a category of sin for that, is there?” Matt asked.

“Without intention – “

“I have intention! I want to!” Matt shouted, then flinched as his voice bounced off the walls. “Even now, just sitting here – it’s why I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about how we would be whole, and I want that so badly, I don’t have control over it, I know it’s bad but I want it –“

“Matthew,” Lantom said sternly. “Put your hands down.” Because they’d flown up and Matt was tearing at his hair for some reason. “Listen to me. Whatever anyone’s told you, whatever you feel right now, the fate of the world is _not_ in your hands. It’s in G-d’s.”

Matt tried to keep still, he really did. He just couldn’t. Black Sky felt like electricity under his skin.

“We are held accountable for our actions, but the L-rd is Mercy. He died for us. He watches over us. I know you. I know you have a lot of questions but your faith is profound. You know that you could be forced to do all of these things against your will, because you always try to do the right thing even when it’s impossible, and you will still be Saved. Now, do you want my advice?”

Lantom rarely lectured, but when he did, it was for a reason. Matt nodded.

“You need to eat something, and then you need to rest. Is there someone you can call to pick you up and make sure that happens?”

“I can’t – I don’t want to burden people.”

“But you don’t want to worry them, either. Who do you want to call?”

Matt closed his eyes in embarrassment. “Foggy. But – ”

“Call him. Or hand me the phone, and I’ll do it myself.”

But Lantom didn’t know how to work Matt’s phone on its current settings. “I can do it.” His shaking fingers took a couple extra tries to make the correct number of hits to bring up Foggy’s number. “Call Foggy.” As it was ringing, he begged, “What do I say?”

“I’ll handle it,” Lantom said, and took the phone when Matt offered it up. “Mr. Nelson?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is Father Lantom. I was wondering if you could come by and pick up Matthew?”

“Is – is everything okay?”

“He’s just feeling a little under the weather and needs someone to walk him home. And feed him. Are you available or should we call someone else?”

“No! I’ll come. I’m the office – give me ten.” Because of course Foggy was obliging. Even after all Matt had done to him, he was still loyal. Or _because_ of what Matt had done to him.

Matt felt so guilty he couldn’t breathe. “I’ve been horrible to Foggy. I – “

Lantom put his hand up. “You’re not in condition to make a confession.”

“But – “

“Go home. Eat. Rest. Recharge. Gather your thoughts. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Matt nodded again, but his throat was dry, and he still couldn’t force all the air down his throat that his lungs wanted. Black Sky wanted to protect Foggy, but Black Sky wanted a lot of things for Foggy that Foggy shouldn’t have. He couldn’t set that straight – he couldn’t make up to Foggy what he’d done.

“Do you want me to get an EMT? It doesn’t have to be a whole ambulance. There’s a certified EMT who lives across the street. He works nights, so he’s probably home now. He wouldn’t mind.”

He couldn’t shake his head more furiously. “No. No, please, don’t do that.” Black Sky did not want any interruptions and neither did he. He couldn’t handle the attention.

Lantom sighed. He seemed distressed. Matt didn’t know why.

“I don’t have a book for you on me,” Lantom said in disappointment, in himself maybe. “Do you know the L-rd’s prayer by heart?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to say it with me, but we’re going to go slow, and at the end of each sentence, we’re going to take a deep breath. In and out. Understand?”

Matt could only nod.

“Can I touch your shoulder?”

Again, he nodded.

“Okay, together now. One deep breath. Our Father, who art in Heaven – ”

He lungs hurt but he had to follow along, to prove he could do it. “Our father, who art in heaven.”

“Deep breath.” Lantom waited on Matt to do it to continue. “Hallowed be thy name.”

“Hallowed be thy name.” Breathe in, breathe out.

“Thy kingdom come.”

“Thy kingdom come.” He catching up with Lantom, but only because he was going so slowly, and because Matt really did know this prayer; he wasn’t a simpleton. “Thy will be done – “

They barely got through it twice before Foggy showed, and it wasn’t exactly a long prayer. Matt didn’t feel much better, but he was focusing on the words and not anything else, because prayer was _important_ and he _had_ to get it right, and Black Sky shut up for that.

“Hey Matt.” Foggy sounded worried, but also curious. “How are you?”

He was too embarrassed to say. He didn’t really know why Lantom felt he needed to be here. But Lantom explained, “I think he’s suffering from lack of sleep before the um, Harmonic Conference?”

“Harmonic Convergence,” Foggy corrected. “Matt, are you okay?”

Matt didn’t answer, but he seethed when Lantom did. “Maybe he could use someone to take him home. And make sure he eats something.”

“You haven’t been eating?” Foggy asked, and turned to Lantom. No doubt they were exchanging looks; Matt resented the fact that he couldn’t tell.

“Okay.” Foggy sounded like he understood now. He was calm and his voice was patient. He tugged on Matt’s arm. “Up we go. Time to go home.”

“Juan’s school,” Matt said. When he stood, he felt dizzy, and accepted Foggy holding him.

“He has saxophone lessons after class. Because we’re the model parents who have to make sure our son’s a genius at everything, right? So he won’t be home for a while. Let’s go. Thank you, Father.”

“Thank you,” Matt mumbled. His brain was a little scattershot. Why was he so tired?

He was humiliated that he did need Foggy to guide him home, even with his cane, but he wouldn’t tell Lantom that, and he knew Foggy wouldn’t accept a series of scattered apologies. Foggy didn’t pepper him with questions. They stopped on the way for bagels and went straight back to his apartment in the middle of Foggy’s workday, and Foggy sat across from Matt’s couch and made him eat every bite of it.

“I know you’re going to say no to this,” Foggy said, probably not inaccurately, “but do you have anything you can take for sleep?”

“No.”

“No you don’t have or no you don’t want anything?”

“I shouldn’t sleep.”

“Why is that?”

The question bothered him. “I don’t know. I just – I feel like it would be bad. My guard would be down.”

Foggy was frowning. He tensed up when he frowned in a very specific way. “Do you want to get checked out by somebody? I don’t think Claire knows anything about this, so she won’t give you any extra hassle.”

“No. I would really – ” Matt didn’t know what he wanted. To throw up, maybe. He didn’t feel good having something in his stomach. But Foggy deserved an answer. “I don’t know what I want. But I know I don’t want to be medicated.”

“I could call Natasha.”

“Why?”

Foggy already had his phone out. “Because I have to be in court in an hour, and I don’t think you should be alone.”

“She shouldn’t have to do it.” But he didn’t want to be alone, either, now that he thought about it.

“She’ll want to do it. If she was here, she would have already offered.” Foggy was dialing. Foggy was moving a lot faster than Mat was. His response times were better. “Hi, Natasha? Would you be available to come over to Matt’s? No, it’s not – I think he just needs someone to be around for a little while. Yeah, I know, vague, but can you come?”

Matt should have been able to hear Natasha’s responses perfectly well, but there was a persistent buzzing in his ear that made it harder for him to focus on aural clues.

“She said half an hour,” Foggy said. Matt wasn’t even aware that he’d hung up. He had spaced again. “Do you want to lie down?”

Matt shook his head. “I spent enough time doing that already. And I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m sure Black Widow would very much dispute the label of ‘babysitter,’ but you’re welcome to have that discussion with her.”

“No.”

“I could tell her about your preferred term.”

“Foggy.”

“Or we could just watch a depressing documentary on Netflix until she comes.”

“Better,” was all Matt said. Those were pretty easy for him to follow with no accompanying narration from Foggy, especially the true crime ones, and they led to some interesting arguments at the television about its portrayal of the legal system.

Foggy put something on – Matt wasn’t sure what, actually, even though Foggy told him – and Matt pretended to listen. He even gave it a real shot, but he kept drifting, still very awake but unable to translate the words he was hearing to thoughts in his brain. If Foggy noticed, he didn’t call him out on it, nor did he say anything when Natasha arrived, something Matt barely noticed when he should have heard her coming blocks away.

“Hi Matt.”

She had probably noticed Matt’s failure to notice her arrival. “Hi.”

“Just stay with him, okay?” Foggy asked Natasha. “Juan should be home at 5. If he calls looking for a ride, tell him to text me.”

Natasha seemed calm. She wandered over to his kitchen and rummaged around in his fridge. He could hear the different containers clinking against each other. “It’s like Prohibition in here.”

“I have a teenager.”

Natasha grabbed an iced tea, and settled on the couch next to him, close enough that they could be touching, but weren’t. “What’s Foggy worried about?”

“I’m not sleeping.”

“Did you refuse to do anything about it?”

He shrugged.

“How is Inna?”

He wondered if he could answer that question, then decided if she was asking, it was fine. “She’s nice. She’s a good teacher. And sometimes – sometimes Stick listens to her, which is saying something.” He pulled at the edge of the cushion, which he somehow hadn’t already torn to pieces. “Did you hear anything? From Stick?”

“I haven’t. But would you want me to tell you if I did?”

“I don’t think Izo can actually read minds, or he would have done it by now,” Matt said.

“You’re worried about him.”

He didn’t want to say why. Well, not all of the reasons why. “If Izo wins ... at least we’ll be together. Me. Stick. Juan. Like last time.”

“You remember the last Harmonic Convergence?”

“I think ... Black Sky knows what it _felt_ like. But – I don’t want to lose everyone else. Foggy. Karen. You.” He leaned back and put his hands over his face, trying to process all of Black Sky’s very mixed emotions. He didn’t really have the mental stamina for it.

Natasha still hadn’t touched him, but her body was always threatening to. “Do you want to try some healing?”

“No! No.” He steadied his voice after Black Sky’s initial reaction. “I think I would end up punching you.”

“That’s fair. I know I’m not exactly good at it.”

“No, you’re fine. You’re ... good.” She had, on many occasions successfully helped him without getting a visceral reaction from Black Sky. “You’re great. But I don’t think we could take it right now.”

“At least you’re being honest.”

“I don’t – I don’t want to lie to you.” He did accept when she ran her hands through his slightly overgrown hair. He leaned into it instead. “I want to ask you something, but it’s probably stupid. And I don’t – I’m not sure I can say this right.” But Natasha didn’t say anything in return, because she knew when to give him time to sort out his words. “After this – if we all make it through this, and we’re okay – do you think we could go out for coffee?”

It was hard to take Natasha by surprise. She was pretty good at hiding it when someone did, but not to Matt, even with his confused senses. “Coffee?”

“Or lunch. Or dinner.”

“You mean a date.”

“Yes. I mean – we’ve never had one. We should have one.”

“Where we make awkward small talk and argue over whether we’re going to split the check?”

“Not if you don’t want to. But – I was thinking.” And yet it was so hard for him to think. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stick and Inna – they never made it. They couldn’t. Life kept them apart. I don’t want that to happen to us. If I have the chance, I want to try. And if it doesn’t work – fine, okay, it doesn’t work. But we tried.”

“I’m not going to church.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to go on a date with me. And make awkward small talk over food. That’s all I want.” At her hesitation, he said, “Has no one ever asked you out?”

“No one who knew who I was.”

“I’ve never asked anyone out who knew I was Daredevil. I mean, not on a _date_. I know it’s not the same, but - ”

He knew it wasn’t the same, but Natasha grabbed his chin and redirected his face in her direction before she kissed him. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I accept your offer. If we make it through this. Unless you want to do it now.”

He wanted to accept. He felt lighter. But he also had to be honest. “I don’t think I could do it right.”

“But it’s better than having a babysitter, right?”

“Fuck, Foggy told you? I didn’t mean that. I just – he’s right. I don’t want to be alone.” But he was glad that he didn’t have to say it. “I tried to do work, but I can’t focus.”

“Meditation?”

“Too tired,” he just said, as it was the easiest way to answer that question.

“Are you sure you don’t have any alcohol?”

Matt smiled grimly.

**********************

Foggy picked Juan up from school. He didn’t have to, but he was feeling antsy after seeing Matt so obviously disturbed.

Juan seemed to be fine, if a little grouchy. “I just want to go home.”

So did he. To Foggy’s great relief, he found Matt asleep on the couch, his head in Natasha’s (thankfully clothed) lap. Like, really asleep. The heavy snoring kind of asleep. Waking him would seem like a war crime. “I’m not going to ask what you did.”

“It wasn’t anything special,” Natasha said, extracting herself from the couch and replacing herself with a pillow under Matt’s head. “I think his body just gave out.”

Foggy nudged Juan. “Let’s get some take-out so we don’t wake Matt. Nat, you’re off the hook on Matt Watch.”

“Do you want me to send someone else?”

“He’s sleeping, right? I’ll check on him in the morning.”

Natasha did finally agree to leave. Foggy would say she seemed worried, but he could never really get a read on her. Even Matt admitted he could be mystified sometimes.

Matt was still sleeping when they got back, for which Foggy was grateful. He draped a blanket over Matt. Natasha had been kind enough to already remove his shoes. “If Matt wakes up, tell him to call me, okay?”

“Yeah.” Juan was distracted, looking at his father out cold on the living room sofa.

“He’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

“You’re lying.”

Foggy was nearly knocked back by the harshness of the reply, but also the certainty with which Juan said it. “Juan! Manners!”

“But you are,” Juan said.

“I am your father and I will occasionally tell a white lie when I want to. And no help from Pio! That’s cheating.”

“He’s a part of me!”

“He’s a – “ Foggy sighed. Only now did he realize how tired he was, and not because he was lacking sleep (though he was, just a little bit). “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He has to be polite, too.”

“No, he – ”

“Do you really want to push me?” Foggy said with much more fury than he intended. He was the softie; he backed down from it quickly when he saw Juan tense up. “Juan, please. This is not an easy time for anybody. We’re all tired and a little bit scared. Please believe me when I say Matt is going to be okay. I don’t know if he is right now, but he’s going to be okay. And Pio can’t tell you otherwise because he can’t see the future.” He couldn’t, right? Foggy felt like that would have come up by now. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I just don’t want you to worry, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” But Juan’s tone lightened when he said it. “Sorry, Dad.”

Juan rarely called Foggy ‘Dad,’ since Matt was ‘Dad’ and Juan’s biological father was ‘Papa.’ It only happened when they were alone together. Foggy hugged him. “It’s okay. Just get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Foggy said, a lump still in his throat.

*********************

When Foggy got home – too late, probably – Marci had already reheated the leftovers and eaten. “Sorry,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Things got crazy today.”

“When are they not?” Marci said. “Now sit down and take your Tums.”

“You don’t know what I ate for dinner.”

“Just do it.”

Foggy shed his jacket and set down at their modest kitchen table, which meant that it folded out to fit six people, but was still very expensive. Marci was right to call him on it – Foggy did feel sick in his stomach. “It’s just stress,” he told her.

She shook her head, even though her eyes were still on her phone. “Tony Stark can turn shit into clean water, but he can’t fix stomach ulcers.”

“He’s not a medical doctor.”

“Which one of them is? There’s got to be at least two.”

“Stephen Strange is a neurosurgeon, but he can only perform surgery from the astral plane. Which is not covered by our insurance,” he answered. “I think Bruce is a general practitioner.”

“Foggy, darling, he turned himself green.”

“I’m not saying he has a spotless record,” Foggy said. And he did have a real gastroenterologist who just wasn’t superpowered or had some kind of hyper-intelligence. “Matt had some kind of panic attack when he was in church.”

“Synagogues always have more doctors available,” Marci said, but she didn’t sound as cold towards Matt’s troubles as she normally was. “Once an old woman collapsed during the High Holiday services and twenty people rushed her. Heart attack.”

“Did she live?”

“They said she died in the ambulance, but I think they were just trying to make everyone feel better.” She put down her phone. “So what happened?”

“I took him home and he went to sleep. I know, uneventful. I think Juan’s a little freaked out, even though he wasn’t there.” Foggy fidgeted. “I know you’re going to think I’m a terrible dad now, but I yelled at him.”

“For what?”

“He told me I was lying.”

Marci didn’t flinch. “Yeah, kids don’t get to call their parents things. And it seems kind of early for him. Don’t worry – in two or three years he’ll have his Goth phase and wishing he was dead.”

“You don’t – you don’t think I’m awful?”

“I just hope you weren’t expecting me to _always_ be the bad cop,” she said. “Because I’m not doing that. We’re switching off _at best_.”

“But –”

“Foggy-bear,” she said with more insistence, “I don’t know why I’m the one telling you this, but yeah, sometimes parents discipline their kids. Sometimes they even yell at them because they’re frustrated and there’s nothing they can do about it. You apologize and it’s fine. Did you apologize?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then it’s fine.” She leaned in when he didn’t respond. “It _really_ is. If this is the first time you ever got angry with Juan, then that’s very impressive. And also means Matt’s being doing the heavy lifting.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Do I ever say anything I don’t mean?”

“You are sarcastic. A lot.”

“I make it obvious,” Marci said. “You know, for people who need help with that sort of thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt? Showing an interest in a long-term relationship? He must really be going crazy.
> 
> I guess I don't write much fic where Matt is in a relationship because I don't see the Netflix!Matt as being compatible with anyone in the long term. All of the potential or prior relationships we've seen have been too violent, inconsistent, or unstable to last very long, so I don't really ship him with anybody.


	16. A Blackening Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little trivia here: That story Marci told about a woman dropping dead in her synagogue? It really happened. Second day of Rosh Hoshanah about 10 years ago, woman collapses, and the rabbi goes, not really joking, "Is there a doctor in the house?" She died in the ambulance parked outside.

Foggy fell asleep easily enough, but he didn’t stay that way. He tossed and turned, trying at first to be careful not to wake Marci, but ultimately giving up on the effort and sitting up. A little indigestion wasn’t unusual for him, but the Tums and Dexilant wasn’t doing it tonight. After checking his phone – no messages – he climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He was so out of it that he’d washed his face and taken some extra Tums before he noticed the gigantic, transparent ghost behind him.

“Ah!” He spun around and hit the sink with his bat. “Shit!” It was King Bumi, in all of his Spirit World-ghostly-glory. “What are you doing here? Did I summon you somehow? Because I don’t know how to do that.”

“I heard you’re having twins!” Bumi said, cheerful as ever. “Congratulations!”

“Keep your voice down!” Foggy demanded. “My wife is sleeping! And how do you know that?”

“Your son told me. Hey, can I get him bending?”

“No! No you cannot!” he whispered as harshly as possible. “Why did you talk to Juan? When did you talk to Juan? Why did you – ” Foggy paused. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Bumi said as he scratched his head, in no particular hurry. “It’s not like I really know anyone else here.”

“No, what are you doing _here?_ In the _material world?_ ”

“Now, I usually don’t get out much.” Of course, Bumi sounded like an old man hunkering down for a long story. “But at Harmonic Convergence arrives, the walls between the two worlds gets thin, and – “

“Harmonic Convergence? It started already?”

“Most of the portals are open, but not all of them. Hey, did you get that Avatar thing sorted out?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Or I don’t know. Crap, I have to call Matt. Like, right now. So sorry. Enjoy my bathroom.” He swung the door open and Marci was sitting up. He kissed her. “I love you. I have to find Matt and Juan. And there’s a spirit of an earthbending king in our apartment. Don’t let him talk you into anything.” He threw on his clothes as literally as possible after getting them out of the hamper, hopping along the hallway with one foot in, one foot out of his pants. “I’ll call!”

He did not stay to find out her response. He figured that was for the best.

**********************

Natasha wasn’t surprised by Foggy’s emergency text. Matt and Juan being unexplainably edgy was enough to raise some alarms, and then Fury told her the South Pole Spirit Portal was open, along with the group text:

ASSEMBLE.

They didn’t want to cause a panic. The portals in San Francisco and Hell’s Kitchen were still closed. The Chaste and the Hand had yet to pop up anywhere.

When she barged into Matt’s apartment he was calmly zipping Juan’s jacket up, like it was an ordinary night and they were just going for a scroll at three in the morning.

“Matt,” she said firmly, with Thor hanging back in the hallway so as not to spook him, even though Matt had know that. “Where are you going?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said. His voice sounded strange. Tired, but determined. He gripped Juan’s hand, and Juan looked up at his father for support. “We need to be together.”

“You can’t be together in the apartment?”

“He means all of us,” Juan said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was stupid for asking. He was shifting his weight around impatiently. “Dad, we have to go.”

“I know.” He kissed Juan on the head, then turned to Natasha and said with a flat, cold tone. “If you try to stop us, I’ll kill you.” He didn’t sound like he wanted to do it, just that he would. He was just reciting a fact. “I won’t let you take my son from me.”

“I know.” And she pulled out her sticks.

It had the desired effect. Matt roared and launched himself at her. They weren’t electrified so she didn’t actually try to fight him off, but that was the signal for Tony to crash through the window. He hovered above the ground, just out of Juan’s reach, and hurled a metal device at Matt, which attached itself to Matt’s back and expanded like the Iron Man armor, encasing his chest and shoulders in a chest piece. It could be armor, but it wasn’t meant to be, and Natasha could kick him off without hurting him and pin him down with her own body.

“Matthew, I am truly sorry,” Thor said as he entered and calmly set his hammer on the armor covering Matt’s chest. Matt screamed, but not in pain. It was a weird, inhuman scream, like a banshee, and his eyes were glowing bright purple, the same color Natasha had seen when she tried to waterbend and brushed up against his Black Sky by accident. Matt was still coherent enough to grasp for the hammer’s handle, but to no avail. Fortunately for everyone, he wasn’t worthy of the throne of Asgard.

At which point, Juan got a running start and jumped on Thor’s back, his eyes also glowing with unholy light, but he couldn’t do much damage before Natasha rebounded and held him still enough to inject the tranquilizer into his neck.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Foggy demanded, as he’d chosen this exact moment to arrive.

“It’s perfectly calibrated to his height and weight,” Tony assured him, even though Foggy didn’t look very assured. He took Juan’s slumping body into his arms. “He’ll wake up feeling fine.”

“Foggy,” Natasha said, eager to keep Foggy on track with the plan. “We need to go.” They needed to get Juan to the safe house, away from Matt, before the drug wore off.

Foggy nodded grimly. “Is he okay?” He gestured to Matt, who was flailing and making awful sounds but couldn’t escape the armor with  Mjolnir on top of it. “Christ. Matt, can you hear me?”

Matt clawed in his general direction, but could not form words.

Natasha didn’t want to spend any more time here, especially not to give Foggy time to think about it. “Thor and Tony have got a handle on this. We need to go if we want to protect Juan – _now._ ”

Foggy’s ears perked up at Juan’s name, and that was the only thing that could persuade him to leave Matt where he was, thrashing like a maniac while pinned to his own kitchen floor.

The safehouse wasn’t far, and the streets were empty because of the hour. It was actually at Columbia, in an extension of one of the old tunnels used for the Manhattan project that were closed to the public. Foggy carried Juan the whole way, not setting him down even in the car seat next to him, stroking his back. Even though they’d gone over this scenario – and others – several times, he didn’t look happy about it.

Bruce was waiting to let them into one of the science buildings, then to the basement, then to the hidden shaft going further down. The actual shelter was basic, stripped of everything but some emergency medical panels mounted on the wall, and a gigantic glass cage in the middle, perfectly round and padded on the ceiling and floor.

Foggy hesitated when it was opened but Natasha pushed him in, and set Juan on the ground. They strapped a helmet to his head, but didn’t restrain him. When they both stepped out and the door was sealed, Bruce activated the machine next to it, and Juan’s body slowly lifted off the ground, floating in the air in the center of the cage.

“An anti-gravity generator,” Bruce said. “He won’t be able to reach the walls, so he can’t hurt himself.”

Foggy had not consented to only brief sedation. Not that he looked happy with the setup. He put his hand on the glass and looked like he wanted to cry.

“It’s going to be okay,” Natasha said, knowing it was a complete lie.

**********************

Fury stopped in at Matt’s apartment to check on the situation.

“Murdock doesn’t have any booze,” Tony said, still in his suit, but sans helmet.

“Not that you should be drinking,” Fury said, surveying the situation. Matt was quietly trying to pull himself out from under the armor, but not to any success. It wrapped around his shoulders and chest and the hammer kept it in place. His eyes flickered between his normal ones and the bright purple, the color of Vaatu. “Murdock. Can you hear me?”

Matt paused, then went back to trying to dislocate one of his shoulders by sheer force of will, as if that would help him.

“We haven’t heard from Izo, but he’s on the other side, opening the Spirit Portals,” Fury said. He knew Tony had a tendency not to pay attention to mission briefings. “The one here will probably be last. He knows there’s Murdock and his kid but they’ll be defended.”

“And the Avatar situation?” Thor asked, though his focus was on Matt.

“Being handled,” Fury said. “Our job is to keep both Murdocks out of the Spirit World, and if we lose them, to fight Izo and Vaatu until the Avatar arrives.”

“Taking his sweet time about it,” Tony said.

Fury hadn’t told him everything. “He needs the actual moment of Harmonic Convergence, after all the portals are open. Before that he’s vulnerable. And yes, I checked, and we can’t borrow Thor’s.”

“I’m sure she would be happy to help, if this were her jurisdiction,” Thor said cheerfully.

Fury checked his holopad again. Rogers and Vision were making sure the building hiding the Spirit Portal was empty. T’Challa was on his way from Wakanda. Lang was with Pym in San Francisco. There were some SHIELD resources at the ready upstate and in the Avengers Tower, but Fury preferred not to fly any heavy machinery in New York airspace until he absolutely had to.

Thor leaned over; Murdock had gone still. He was breathing heavily, but no longer fighting. His whole body was shaking.

“Elevated blood pressure and heartrate,” Tony said, reading off what his eyepiece was telling him. “But within safe zones. His cholesterol is better than mine. Triglycerides are good, too.”

“Very helpful, Stark.”

But Thor was bent over too far. Matt’s arm shot out and grabbed Thor’s hand, biting down hard on it, distracting Thor enough to grab the other hand and force it around Mjolnir, and Matt managed to shove it off by guiding the hand. He was ready for his new freedom, and rolled out from under Thor, leaping up the walls and kicking Tony in his exposed face. Tony’s suit reacted first, firing darts with stunning capacity into Matt’s shirt, but it didn’t even slow him down. Matt landed with one foot on top of Tony’s head, then leapt for the destroyed window, airbending away Fury’s tranquilizer darts before going headfirst into the night sky.

“Shit!” Tony covered his face. “He can’t actually fly, can he?”

Maybe letting Stick teach Matt airbending in Wakanda wasn’t the best idea. “No,” Fury said.

“But he’s still Daredevil.” Meaning, he could do a lot. And he was fearless. And not currently in his right mind.

Fury ran to the window and fired the rest of his darts, but they didn’t make it anywhere near Matt, who was bouncing from fire escape to fire escape like he was weightless. “Romanov,” Fury barked into the comm. “Guess who’s coming your way.”

“He lifted the hammer.” Natasha sounded like she was actually a little surprised. And mad.

“On a technicality only,” Thor insisted, having recovered his hammer and bandaging the bite zone.

Her exaggerated sigh came clear over the comm. “At least try to slow him down. But no electricity.”

“It would be the most efficient – “

“ _No electricity_ ,” came Foggy’s voice. “Those were the terms.”

“Just hold down the fort,” Fury said. “Murdock and Juan are probably the last two.” He turned off the line and looked at Tony. “Can’t you fly?”

“Technically it’s a propulsion engine, so – “

“Get out there!”

**********************

Juan was still asleep, so there was that small mercy. Foggy checked in on Marci, but forgot to ask about Bumi before he hung up. Columbia wasn’t very far from Hell’s Kitchen and Matt was fast. They couldn’t hear anything in the bunker, but they had television monitors to make up for it, and a tracking device on Matt in that chest gear.

“Shouldn’t Iron Man be faster?” Foggy said as he watched the dots move around on the map. Matt was leaping back and forth across Broadway in a serpentine manner because Iron Man was on his heels and probably firing things at him. He was pretty good at dodging Mjolnir, too. At this hour, the streets were still light on traffic even though there was light in the sky.

And there was a lot of light, enough to temporarily short out the screens, and they could hear the rumbling they weren’t supposed to hear from all the way up Manhattan as the building the Avengers were guarding in Hell’s Kitchen collapsed and a bright orange light shot up unobstructed in the sky.

Natasha was so calm the way she went through the various holoscreens and brought up Japan and San Francisco.

“That light’s supposed to be there, right?” came Scott Lang’s voice on the Avengers line.

“Depends on your interpretation,” Fury told them. “We should have – “

The line cut out. It didn’t die entirely, just momentarily failed, and when it came back up, Fury wasn’t talking anymore, probably because he was doing what they were doing – staring at the screen (or in his case, just the actual sky) as _things_ began to emerge from the shaft of life – thousands and thousands of them, forever changing shape but forming a sort of patchwork of purple spirits. When they reached a certain level in the atmosphere, it was like they’d hit a ceiling, because they stopped climbing and spread outward, coating the area around them in ever-increasing darkness as they blocked out the rising sun.

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off the screen when she said, “Did Matt ever tell you why they’re called Black Skies?”

 **********************

There was so much light and Matt could _see_ it.

It was really more like darkness, if darkness could be light. The part of his brain that could still think remembered light and dark, or tried to, and how you needed light to distinguish color, but this was light with no color, and thinking too hard about it hurt his brain, and besides, he couldn’t think because he had to get somewhere so badly it hurt. He was just a broken limb to a larger body, amputated and repairable, but never replaceable. He would always feel lost and the body would feel him gone and it cried out to him, and the others didn’t hear because of course they wouldn’t; they didn’t matter. If he was bigger, he would swat them like flies. If he was together with the rest of him, he could be doing that right now, but it wasn’t his mission. His mission was to get the other piece, the thing that would help make them all whole, and he knew it wanted him to find it. It wasn’t hidden. It just wasn’t moving, and while he couldn’t remember why, exactly, he was free and the rest of him wasn’t, it didn’t matter. This kind of bond couldn’t be broken. It could barely even be stretched, and that time was coming to a close. All he had to do was do this, and he’d be whole. And it would feel _so good_ to be whole. The other pieces, they would come together, if they hadn’t already. They would do their own thing. Their part in it all.

He couldn’t see the jet, not in this new way, but he could sense it, like the buildings and street lamps he was leaping from as it hovered over him. It wasn’t armed, but it had a hatch beneath it that opened, and he smelled sky bison and then –

And his whole body just stopped. He forgot all about the missing piece. Now he had something more important to do. New orders. Very important orders. Something only he could do.

“Hey, Matty,” Stick said. “I probably shouldn’t, but I just couldn’t help myself. Had to see you one last time.” He laughed. “I knew you’d be the death of me.”


	17. A Problem With Priorities

“Let the Avengers handle him,” Inna told Stick back on the Wakandan jet.

He brushed off her concern. “They can’t. And they’ll be busy with the other Black Skies in a few minutes. Matty will go for his kid unless he dies or someone more important to kill comes along.”

Zuri didn’t even try to convince him of otherwise. Neither did T’Challa. So it was up to Inna to say, “He’ll regret what he does to you.”

“He regrets everything. He’s like a walking regret.” Stick climbed on to Howard. “Don’t get between us. He’ll just kill you.”

No one was any good at bossing Stick around, even if he really did need to be somewhere else. Not yet, he said. Even with the Spirit Portals open, they had a little time left until the stars were right, when the exact moment was upon them. So they let him go, even helped him get to Matt, who stopped running long enough for Iron Man to finally catch up and fire some darts at him, which he dodged. He had a few sticking out of his back already, but they weren’t even beginning to slow him down. His body was the same, but he was barely recognizable as Matt, with his face contorted into frustrated rage as he gaped at Stick, his eyes bright with Vaatu’s evil light.

In Izo’s eyes, it was more important to kill Stick than to pick up one last Black Sky, who was good to him dead or alive. The thousands of Black Skies pouring out of the Spirit Portal could handle that, and whatever firepower Fury could throw at them.

Inna wanted to say that maybe helping Matt master airbending hadn’t been the best idea, but Stick had his reasons, and they were good ones, when he finally told her.

Stick had his glider but he left it on Howard. On the horizon, they could see the Black Skies that weren’t blocking out the sun heading in their general direction, a few dozen warriors sent to stop the Avengers. They had been dangerous as the Chaste and now they were even worse, fueled by Vaatu’s aggression and Izo’s intention. But Stick didn’t look concerned with any of that.

“C’mon, kid,” he said to Matt, who was not looking much like a kid. “I’ve got places to be.”

Airbendering was about evasion, about finding and using negative chi. Stick was a firebender first, about channeling chi into attack, but he didn’t hit first. He avoided Matt’s punches and kicks and all of the force behind them that would have sent an ordinary man spinning or thrust into the wall of a building.

“He can’t win if he doesn’t fight back,” Zuri observed.

“He just wants to stall,” Inna said. But she didn’t think it was a good idea, either. Stick was more talented, better-trained, and had four types of bending, but Matt was willing and ready to draw blood. He wasn’t pulling any punches. If he could get to Stick, he could hurt him. And he was a fast fighter, so there wasn’t much “stalling” going on, except maybe to run down Stick, who needed to save his energy.

Inna had never spoken to Izo on the subject directly – she’d only seem him a few times at White Lotus meetings in the Spirit World, including one where she was named a Grand Master – but she’d heard through people that Izo’s public reason for not letting Stick ascend in the Order of the White Lotus was that he had “problems with his priorities.” To put it mildly. Matt wanted to save his son. Stick wanted to help him.

If it were Raiko, she’d probably be doing the same thing. Inna wondered where she was now – surely in the massive tower of Black Skies threatening to destroy the world. But was she happy?

The spirits answered her, in a way, when they howled angrily at the Avengers who were attacking them in the distance, trying to pull them apart with missiles and energy beams, and Stick was distracted, too, because that was a part of him no matter how much he denied it, but Matt wasn’t, and finally landed a blow in Stick’s stomach, sending him to his knees as Matt stood over him – bigger, angrier, with his Black Sky bursting at the seams of him as he became less and less human. Inna and Zuri moved in, but they knew they were too slow. Matt could snap Stick’s neck in that time.

But he didn’t. He stopped cold, and the Black Sky was sucked back inside him. He was frozen, his hands balled into frustrated fists, and he howled at the sky. No, he screamed. It was a very human scream.

Stick jumped up and bended the granite around Matt so it encased him up to his elbows, locking him in. Then he smiled. “I knew you could do it.”

Vaatu’s light in Matt’s eyes flicked in and out, then failed. “Stick.” His breathing was ragged and he shook his head as if trying to clear it.

“Don’t start apologizing. You’ll never stop.” Stick didn’t turn to Inna or Zuri, but caught his glider when Zuri threw it to him. “And I got somewhere to be.”

“I can’t – I have to get – ” Matt shut his eyes. They still flickered. “I don’t think I can hold this much longer. Juan – ”

“He’s got people on him,” Stick said. “The longer the two of you hold out, the better. But don’t beat yourself up over it too much. Not that you’ve ever taken my advice on that.”

Stick snapped open the sails of the glider, but Matt wasn’t done. He shook his head again, and when he opened his eyes, they were their usual dull gaze but clear. “You have to forgive Izo.”

“Now’s not the time for this bullshit.”

But Stick was listening to him, and Matt knew that. “You said – to hold the Avatar State – Raava – your intentions have to be pure. You have to be past everything bad.” He took a deep breath, trying to maintain his focus against what must have been a terrible mental onslaught telling him to break free and kill his mentor. “I know Izo hurt you. I know he wants to kill you now. But you have to forgive him. If he doesn’t accept – that’s not the point. The point is you tried.”

Stick was doing his best to pretend he was ignoring Matt, but he wasn’t. “Remember, kid. An airbender.”

He never knew how to say goodbye.

**********************

Matt wasn’t entirely sure when Stick left, or where he’d gone. Most of his own mental energy went to tamping down the severe desire to kill Stick, find Juan, and/or reunite with Raava. It wasn’t in control of him, but it was still very much a voice, and a loud one at that. His own Black Sky – Mike – vacillated between sides and added to a lot of the chatter. Matt just knew Stick was gone, that he couldn’t move, and that he was exhausted but would start running again the instant he was free, though he wasn’t sure in what direction he would go.

The sky bison was gone, and the jet that brought it. Inna and Zuri might have been on it, but he wasn’t sure. He hoped there was an earthbender somewhere to get him out of this, because he didn’t think his legs could handle being jackhammered.

“ – I know, it’s weird, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” the voice said, and not to him. “But I owe him a lot of Father’s Day cards. And he owes me a lot of birthday cards. So I guess we’re even.”

“Will he be here?” This voice was Steve – Captain America. His shield was up and ready on his arm, and it made his voice echo in a strange way, like no other metal would.

“No, he’s dead, so I think he can’t leave the Spirit World?” Sam. That’s who it was. And he didn’t sound so sure about what he was saying. “But if he can he’s in that thing.” Sam Wilson was pointing up to the blackening Sky.

So they could see it, too.

“Matt,” Steve said, and Matt realized he wasn’t in his Daredevil suit. “You want to check in with us?”

The first thing he said just came out as an incoherent mumble, but it did the job of telling them he could hear them.

“Tony volunteered to stay back with you but that’s just because he’s scared of portals,” Sam said. “And then he saw your ninja master and booked it. Did that guy do something to him?”

“I was never clear on that,” Steve said. “But there’s definitely a reason Tony does not like ninjas. No offense.”

“None taken,” Matt managed to say. His voice was hoarse. He didn’t know why. Had he been yelling before? “Where’s Juan?”

“You know we can’t tell you that,” Steve said. “But he’s safe.”

Matt sighed and let his head drop. He knew if he let his defenses drop, Vaatu would have him again, but it was so hard to stay alert. “W-Where’s Foggy?”

“With Juan. Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “Hey, so I hear you passed on getting the tatts.”

“Would have ... taken a long time.”

“Yeah, that’s a lot of ink.”

It was good, because he had to think about it. “I’m a trial lawyer.”

“Trust me, _nobody_ would be mistaking you for some kind of hardcore thug. It’s all bright blue arrows pointing everywhere,” Sam explained. “Of course everyone at the VA would laugh me right out of there, but I’ve already got the bird wings going on, so it’s pretty bad as it is.”

“And thanks for telling me you were an airbender ten minutes ago,” Steve said.

“Matt’s an airbender,” Sam replied. “I’m a guy who doesn’t mind looking brave and jumping out of things. And airbenders can’t really fly. Right, Matt?”

There were trying to draw him back into the conversation. He forced himself to reengage. “There’s one who can but he’s like ... a monk or something. No attachments.” But Matt felt attached – to every Black Sky everywhere, when they were all so close to him, maybe thirty blocks south, fighting the other Avengers and what members of the National Guard and police dared to enter the warzone that Hell’s Kitchen was becoming. If Matt could focus he could probably hear the screams he heard during the alien invasion, but it was all just background noise, as if behind a wall, compared to the unnatural spirit sounds coming from the portal that his body was so attuned to. “I need – I need to talk to Juan.”

“We don’t have a direct line,” Steve lied. He was a bad liar. He’d always been one.

“Then Foggy.”

They talked amongst themselves. It was too difficult to listen to it; he was too removed from them, two ordinary humans (well, maybe not ordinary) having an ordinary conversation. He’d spaced out a little, enough to notice it when Steve answered, “He’s busy.”

“Busy,” Matt repeated. Talking stabilized him when he succeeded in doing it. “Busy doing what?”

**********************

A few minutes after the Spirit Portal opened and the sky started darkening anew, something awoke in Juan, only it wasn’t Juan, or Foggy liked to think it wasn’t. Purple light was coming out of his eyes and mouth as he howled and kicked helplessly at the air, unable to propel his body in any direction.

Foggy knew that sound, from when he first met Juan – if “met” was the appropriate term. It was Juan’s Black Sky, or a mixture of the two, separately at odds with its situation. Pio couldn’t come out of his body like he could during the Hand ritual, but he wanted to move the body, and Foggy could guess in what direction he would go if he had the chance.

Bruce put a hand on Foggy’s shoulder as Natasha listened over the different emergency channels.

“Matt’s stopped moving,” she said. “Stick got him to calm down.”

“Stick?” Where the fuck had Stick been? And what was he doing now?

Natasha didn’t explain Stick’s role in all this. Maybe she didn’t know. “They’ve got him on lockdown. Rogers and Wilson are going to take over watching him. The control might not last.”

It would, for as long as it could. “Matt’s stubborn,” he told them, as if they somehow didn’t know by now. “He’ll manage.” He didn’t want to push Matt aside, but Matt had made it clear – Juan was the mission.

And Foggy really didn’t want Matt to make it here, even if he was back in control of himself, because he didn’t want him to see Juan like this, helplessly spinning around and around, trying to break free of his restraints and find the walls of his glass cage, all the while making the sounds of pure agony.

“Hey buddy,” Foggy said, putting a hand against the glass. He’d adopted that nickname long ago, when Juan made fun of him for failing to correctly pronounce his name, and it lasted beyond that period. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” _If I could take this pain away I would_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t want to taunt him. “That’s a promise. I’m not leaving you.”

Juan stopped screaming – or howling, or whatever the proper term was – for just a few moments, maybe just to catch his breath. Or maybe he could hear Foggy, even if he couldn’t respond.

And then the roof caved in. 


	18. When the Stars are Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia Time:  
> \- I didn't want to mention this earlier because I didn't want to start a red herring theory that Juan was the new Avatar, but the reason that I initially gave Juan that name was because the pronunciation is very similar to "Wan," which is the name of the first Avatar. It's not a plot thing. I was just looking for a common Mexican name and I saw an opening for a reference. 
> 
> \- Even though Vaatu is mainly black and red, the energy beams he shoots are purple, and the color in Unalaq's eyes when he's possessed by Vaatu's spirit in Legend of Korra is purple, which is why the Black Skies are purple. (For those unfamiliar with Avatar mythology, Raava is associated with blue, which is what appears in people's eyes when they are in union with her in the Avatar State)
> 
> \- In case anyone forgot and didn't get the reference Sam was making, I mentioned in "After All These Years" that Sam is the son of an airbending Black Sky named Paul Wilson, who is now deceased, and "living" in the Spirit World. So Sam is one of the few people in the world who actually inherented his bending, but Paul being in the Chaste meant he was never around for his son, nor did he train him in airbending. Sam has, at this time, had no formal airbending training.

The problem was a lot of the roof was metal. Most of it was concrete, or brick, but there was aluminum in there, and steel beams for reinforcement, and Foggy couldn’t bend those. And there was the wood and other things in the walls not made from stone that were totally beyond his abilities, but the cement – that he could stop, holding up a massive slab a foot above his head.

Bruce took care of the rest. Code Green was always a last resort, but when he could go all-out on an enemy he was okay, and the Black Skies, glowing purple around their edges, served as obvious enemies to toss a ceiling at. They might have been possessed spirits and talented members of the Chaste, but they were also in human bodies, and they went down with the electric batons that Natasha refused to use on Matt except as an absolute last resort. 

“Jesus Christ,” Foggy said as he tried to will his back into not totally giving up, and flinched for a criticism for blasphemy, but none came. He did feel a little better about saying it now that he was Jewish – or that was his excuse. Only when the Hulk and Natasha were clear did he set the cement down, slowly, maneuvering it to the side of the cage before letting it drop to the floor, shaking the building. In the end, everything held, but Foggy knew he was far from a long nap. “I’ve got you,” he told Juan, then noticed he wasn’t hovering anymore. The control panel was destroyed, ending the antigravity in the chamber, and he was on the ground. “Juan? Are you okay?”

The ground was padded, and Juan sprang to his feet more easily than he should have, and hurled himself against the wall, making the helmet a very good idea. 

“Juan, listen to me,” Foggy said. “Listen to my voice. You have to stop. You have to fight it. Please! Or you’ll hurt yourself.” 

The Hulk was off somewhere, still fighting, but Foggy wouldn’t look away to find out where. Natasha was back at his side. “He’s going to be okay.” But Foggy knew those were just words, because the Black Skies were just getting stronger, and they made the actual sky an impenetrable, angry mess, and meanwhile, his son was trying to bash his brains in. They couldn’t drug him again without opening the cage, and Foggy didn’t  _ want _ to do it again, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle this, either.

Natasha’s comm came back on. It was Steve. “Matt thinks he can talk.”

“Not now,” Foggy said, but he hadn’t thought through his answer. 

Natasha didn’t question his decision. “You heard him. Over.” There was barely time for her to shut off the link before a massive wave overcame them, crashing into the cage.

**********************

Fury insisted on joining Inna and Stick. “It’s my bison,” he said, climbing up into the driving part of the saddle, a full-blown bazooka slung over his back. “Howard. Yip yip!”

It was time. Stick had been avoiding the Spirit World to keep away from Izo and Vaatu, but now he had to enter, to get to the right portals. His bending would be stronger there, but so would Izo’s. 

The yellow light was still visible, but much of it was taken up by the ever-extending fusion of Black Skies, and all of them wanted Stick. He was a part of them, whether he liked it or not. His own spirit was lost, stuck between worlds, and now that the barrier between worlds was so thin, Inna wondered how it made him feel. 

She didn’t ask and Stick didn’t offer.

Tons of Black Sky spirits stretched out from the mass to fight them, and capture Stick, but the Avengers were there, as many as Fury could assemble, with the mission of protecting Stick, even if they didn’t know the full truth as to why. 

“I said no portals!” Stark shouted over the comm. He was hovering right next to the portal, firing blast after blast but not inching any closer to it. “I’ve got your back ... from here.”

Fury shook his head at him, but flew on through. The usual shift from Material to Spirit World was almost meaningless as they were too intertwined. They could see the base of the Black Skies, at the foot of the tree Izo usually meditated under. The usual meditational spirits (mostly of dead airbenders) had fled, and the area around it was barren and hostile to fit the mood of the spirits. 

Stick was not trying to use any bending to defend himself. He was curled up, trying to keep focus as his own Black Sky lit up inside of them, a bundle of anxiety and longing. Nick was ready with his bazooka, and fired missile after missile into the mass, pushing it back and away from them, and away from Stick. It sprung back like a wall of rubber, but instead of grabbing Stick, it punched him, sending him sailing in the opposite direction far out into the darkness. 

Fury barely flinched. “He has the pot. Plan goes forward. Avengers!” His radio shouldn’t have worked between worlds, but it did on the edges, and the ones just on the other side ran or flew through. Their plan was to attack the base, where Izo theoretically was, and therefore, probably Vaatu. 

They weren’t disappointed. Izo was sitting in front of his tree, engulfed in the surrounding pillar of angry, confused spirits he had summoned. And from him sprung Vaatu.

Inna had only seen Raava – two-dimensional and white, with blue insides that hummed when she talked, and long tendrils hanging off her, making her look like an overturned sea creature. Vaatu was her mirror image – black, with red insides that turned purple when he talked, but he was much bigger and his limbs longer, like those of an octopus maybe, and they went in all directions to swat at the Avengers as one would swat a fly.

“Harmonic Convergence is almost upon us!” he said, as his voice was very masculine. “And Raava has abandoned you. Your world is at an end, tiny humans.” 

And then he took a hammer to the face – if it could be called a face – and discovered that these tiny humans could still fight. 

“I told Matt I would stay with Stick,” Inna told Fury. 

Fury nodded and landed Howard long enough to hop off him. “Do what you need to do.” He petted Howard’s fur. “Go, damnit!”

Howard groaned with his gaping mouth, but took off again as soon as Inna was down in the driver’s seat on the back of his neck. She left the Avengers to their battle, and the portals to their work of slamming open the bridge between the worlds, and went to find the Avatar.

**********************

The fall took longer than Stick expected, and not just because he was an airbender. The Spirit World was shaken by its current status, with spirits fleeing in every direction, and he did not know this new landscape. And he did not want to be going in this direction. He wanted to go back, and take his place as part of it all, and be whole again.

_ We could have _ , Black Sky said.  _ We still can _ .

He could barely bend his way out of being killed in the fall as he hit earth and rolled in the grass. The pain and disorientation of being spun around distracted Black Sky, and gave Stick time to regroup. “We’re not doing that,” he said. 

_ You never want to do what feels good _ .

“Matty isn’t in there,” Stick countered, and Black Sky went silent. Stick used the time to get to his feet and take a limited stock of things. There were maybe a few minutes to the height of Harmonic Convergence. He removed the case that held the very delicate teapot from his backpack. With all the fighting and uncertainty, Vaatu was in ascent, and Raava was even smaller now, so much so that he could hold her in his arms, her various tendrils hanging down. 

“I know I can’t,” he said to her. He couldn’t meditate now and become the vessel she needed him to be. There wasn’t time. “I’m sorry.”

“If Vaatu destroys your world, I will be reborn in him, and our fight will continue for the next ten thousand years,” she said. “I have lost before. There have been other existences.”

But he didn’t want another existence. He wanted this one. And he didn’t want to leave it, either, even with all that nonsense with Matt and the next Avatar. He didn’t want to leave Inna alone again. He didn’t want to be Izo’s failed student any longer. 

He was crying. It was selfish and indulgent and a terrible way to spend his time. He could not remember the last time he cried.

_ When you hurt Matt _ , Black Sky reminded him.  _ We almost killed him that time _ . It meant in Florida. 

Stick had been drunk and angry, a deadly combination. Not angry at Matt, of course. It just came out that way, because Matt was the only one who made himself available for that particular role, the moronic flagellant that he was. But out here, with Matt being kept away from him, and him refusing to join the rest of the Black Skies, there was no one to be mad at but himself. 

“Vaatu is a seed inside of you,” Raava told him. “You cannot let him bloom now.”

Stick knew the sky bison approaching by scent, but he said nothing to its presence. “Inna.” He let her approach, and tried to wipe his face while still holding Raava. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be fighting Vaatu.”

“I promised Matthew I would stay with you,” she said, “until the end. He didn’t want you to be alone.”

And she’d agreed with him. Maybe she would have done it anyway. But she didn’t say that; she wanted Stick to know that  _ Matt _ said it, or requested it, or whatever he did.

“I’m too angry,” he said, referring to why he wasn’t in the mental place he needed to be. “I’ve always been angry. It’s hard to stop now.”

“No,” she said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I remember differently.”

He thought back across the years, to when things were simpler and he knew less of the world. Maybe that was why that was. “But I was hurt. Killing kids – it still hurt back then. I wasn’t numb to it.”

“Izo made you do that.”

“We couldn’t save them. There wasn’t time.”

“There’s time now.”

He opened his mouth to contradict her, but he couldn’t. All of the spirits were together, with Izo and Vaatu. There were only a few pieces missing, and he was one of them. He didn’t know if Matt had joined them, or if he was still holding up. He didn’t know where Matt’s kid was. 

_ We would know if we’re the last _ , Black Sky said. Matt was still holding out – for  _ him _ . To buy  _ him  _ time.

“Matt told me to forgive Izo, but he doesn’t deserve it.”

“Believe or not, Matthew Murdock isn’t right about _ everything _ ,” Inna said. “You have to forgive yourself.”

“I don’t have the right.”

“And now you’re even sounding like him,” Inna said. “The master has become the student.”

He felt a flash of anger, not from Black Sky but from him, and wondered what he was protecting. His sense of self? This was a weird time to question it. 

“I have been with countless Avatars over countless lifetimes,” Raava said. “Yours and mine. And none of them have ever been perfect. The entire Avatar system was created from a mistake that almost let Vaatu win. The first Avatar was the one who caused the mistake and almost destroyed his own world. To him, there was never enough time to undo what he had done. But he never stopped fighting, not through all of our lifetimes.”

Inna was looking up.

“What is it?” Stick asked, but he already knew. The darkness that everyone always told him about but he never understood was spreading.

It was Harmonic Convergence.

**********************

Steve and Sam felt the rumbling, but their backs were turned to Matt when he busted forth from the rubble surrounding him. The purple spirit inside him was no longer contained by his edges, and it became a translucent force around him, growing in size and gaining monstrous arms to knock them both back before walking calmly towards the portal.

**********************

Foggy couldn’t breathe. Some waterbending Black Sky had turned everything around him to ice. It didn’t last – the pressure shattered the glass of Juan’s cage, and it reverted back to water. 

The Black Sky Natasha was ready to fight turned and left, seemingly abandoning Juan as it returned to the Spirit World. But Juan wasn’t Juan anymore – he was hovering above the ground, his Black Sky fully emerged and horrific, forming a shell around him. Natasha went for it first, and before Foggy could even wonder what she was going to do, it grabbed her and hurled her into the wall. 

“Well, shit.” Foggy couldn’t help himself. He looked at Juan, even though Juan was hard to look at, and Juan turned and moved past him, presumably to head towards the portal, and his own kind. “Oh no you don’t!” He stamped his feet on the ground and raised a wall of mixed cement and stone in front of Juan, to raised his hand and simply slapped it away. 

“Juan!” Foggy shouted. “I’m your father, and I’m telling you to get back here!”

Juan and Black Sky moved along, but he saw them both hesitate, if just for a moment. “Juan!” He screamed again, and took this second moment to jump straight into them, tackling them both to the floor. 

Their skin burned his. It wasn’t quite like fire, but it was definitely a burn, the strange type that he felt inside as well as outside, and everything in the world was telling him to flee this madness, but he held Juan tight instead, squeezing him in his arms. “I’m not going to leave you. I promised.”

So when Juan stood back up, or tried to, dragging himself to the portal, Foggy went with him, stuck on like a parasite, digging in his heels to slow him down, or die trying.

**********************

Stick was it. He was the last piece, the only one not reaching for Vaatu, and Vaatu was coming to him instead, destroying everything in his path. The Avengers couldn’t harm him anymore. Nothing could.

Stick turned his back to the approaching danger and sat down, crossing his legs into a full lotus position. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Inna said.

“I don’t know,” Stick said. “I’m sure there’s something. Falling down on the end of the world? That seems like a biggie.”

“Oh Stick,” she said, running a hand through his hair before she kissed it. “I could never stay mad at you. But if it makes you feel better, you’re forgiven.”

He didn’t know if he should be, but there wasn’t time to find out. “For once in your G-ddamn life,” he told his Black Sky, “listen to me, and get out here.”

He closed his eyes and the world fell away from him as best as he could manage. Black Sky couldn’t fully leave him, but it could project itself opposite of him. It never bothered with any human sort of shape. It had never been human. It was born dormant because Stick was a defect, right from birth, which was why no one but Izo wanted him.

_ We never get what we want _ , it always said.

“I’m sorry,” Stick said. “It was my fault. Not anyone else’s. Not my father or Izo or the Chaste or the Hand or – whatever. All of them. It was mine.”

_ No _ , Black Sky corrected.  _ It was ours _ .  _ You are me and I am you _ .

“But I’m the one in control.”

_ If you were in control, we wouldn’t be having this conversation _ , Black Sky said, with more clarity than it usually had. Maybe it was the strength it gained at Harmonic Convergence.  _ You can accomplish nothing without me. I can never be whole again without you _ .

“If we become whole again now, with Vaatu, it will destroy the world.”

_ You don’t want that _ .

“No.” He wasn’t sure what he wanted, since everything seemed to impossible, but it wasn’t that. 

_ Then we’ll have to find another way _ , it said.  _ Even if it takes a thousand lifetimes. I’m not going anywhere _ . 

“We need Raava.”

_ Raava is already inside us. Vaatu is inside us and Raava blooms from Vaatu. They’re like us – never fully separated, never dying without being reborn _ . 

“You never told me this.”

_ You never said you were sorry _ , Black Sky retorted.  _ And you never listened _ .

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He felt dumb, like he was too stupid to get the message across of how sorry he really was. He wanted to repeat it over and over, to infinity. “I’m sorry for everything.”

_ I forgive you _ , his Black Sky said.  _ But let’s try not to fuck this one up _ .

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

Black Sky retreated inside him, and he took a deep breath, deeper than he had ever taken.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is siked as hell to see Stick in the Defenders?!?! Woohoo! He's only in four episodes (most people seem to be in either 4 or all 8). I hope he kicks the shit out of everyone, but especially Danny Rand.


	19. Avatar Stick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are not into Avatar mythology, basically, the Avatar is reborn into the body of a different bender in a specific order. The order is:
> 
> Firebender -> Airbender -> Waterbender -> Earthbender -> Firebender, and so on
> 
> In the TV show, Avatar Aang was an airbender. His previous incarnation, Avatar Roku, was a firebender. After Aang dies, he is reborn as Korra, a waterbender. All of the Avatars have the capacity to learn all four elements, but they have their "starting" element which is their default one.
> 
> I mention this because it's relevant to the plot.

“So,” Tony said, “anyone got after-death plans?”

His helmet was off and his suit was reduced into itself except for the bare minimum of his thrusters because the navigation didn’t work in the Spirit World; F.R.I.D.A.Y. couldn’t make the journey and he had to aim at Vaatu’s tentacles, “Like a normal person,” as Sam put it.

“I heard there’s this Buddhist phrase where you say it three times and you automatically get into heaven,” Clint said from what remained of his perch; Vaatu kept destroying it. “Anyone know it?”

“No Google in the Spirit World,” Steve said. He could hurl his shield at the dark mass all he wanted, but it would only temporarily break, and then immediately reform. “But to answer your question, Tony, I’ve got nowhere to be. Unless we can book it to Thor’s planet.”

“Mjolnir can’t transport us from the Spirit World,” Thor explained. “Which is something that is causing a bit of regret in me right about now.”

“So Valhalla at say, eight?” Tony said. “Not that I know what time it is now, but when we hit an eight, that’s where we go.”

“We do this right-before-we-die banter _way_ too often,” Sam said, but he stumbled, as even his goggles couldn’t protect him from the bright blue light that blasted through the sky. “What the hell was that?”

“Raava,” Vaatu said, though not really talking to them.

Fury smiled. “The Avatar. And hopefully he’s bringing my damn bison back with him.”

The ground beneath them shifted, separating them to make way for a rushing river coming from somewhere on the horizon, and raising that water was Stick, or some ultimate version of Stick, his eyes glowing blue instead of purple. The elements themselves sprung up to trail him – he was riding a rock with the earth reaching up to join it, and the water behind him was pulled along but looked more like he was reaching out with a searching arm.

Vaatu immediately dropped his attacks on the Avengers and struck out at him, but Stick beat his tentacles back with a blast of fire that was stronger than anything they could make with a machine.

“ _Thor_ ,” he/she said, because it was Stick’s voice, but also a female voice, separate but speaking with the same mouth. He extended his hand.

Without questioning it, Thor threw Mjolnir in his direction, and Stick caught it without so much as slowing down. He blasted fire out of the bottoms of his feet that took him high into the air in front of Vaatu, and landed him – or, specifically, the hammer – right at the base of the tree, where the Black Skies were tied to Vaatu. Mjolnir broke the connection, and the collective Black Skies seethed in confusion and fell back, unsure of what to do, but stopped expanding or attacking.

“ _Vaatu_ ,” Stick/Raava said, “ _your era of corruption is over_.”  

He hopped around Vaatu, easily avoiding the beam that Vaatu could shoot at him, and beat him back, leaving the hammer in place at the end of Vaatu’s tail as he put more and more distance between Vaatu and the Black Skies. When they could no longer touch each other, Stick stopped at their current base and began a new bending form, one no one was familiar with. He stayed in place, but circles of light began to form and cross around the tower of spirits, changing them from purple to blue.

“ _You are purified_ ,” the Avatar said. “ _Be at peace_.” When he ended with a bow, they separated, some of them gently falling back to the ground, or through the Spirit Portal, while others drifted up into the sky, shining like stars.

One remained. Master Izo was still at the base, his black sky now blue, but he clutched his heart.

“ _You’ve lived for too long_ ,” the Avatar said. “ _Without Vaatu, you can go no further. The time has come for you to rest_.”

“John,” Izo said. “Don’t do this.”

“ _Forgive me_ ,” Stick said, but it was still Raava answering with him as he stood still and the last of Vaatu’s corruption faded away. Izo aged so rapidly that he was still breathing when his skin began to retract, and his fair fell away, and moments later, he was no more than a pile of old bones.

“ _Sensei_ ,” the Avatar said, bowing to the bones. “ _Go in peace_.”

He didn’t stay respectfully still long. When he turned to Vaatu, his enemy was much reduced in size, having lost his spirit army.

“This is not the end for us,” Vaatu said. “If you destroy me, I will grow anew.”

“ _We know_ ,” the Avatar said. With Vaatu trapped under the hammer, he was easy to hit. All of the elements came to surround him, and the ground rose around Vaatu, who despite being two-dimensional (or appearing to be) could not slither his way out as the Avatar built him a prison, then sunk it back into the ground in front of the tree. For the very last bit that remained above ground, Stick first had to lift the hammer and he passed it off to Thor.

“If anyone wants out, and they don’t want to come home the long way, I’d say it’s time to leave,” Fury said as Howard and Inna arrived. “ _Now_.”

Scott Lang was barely back and through his portal to San Francisco when Stick rode the waters beneath him to the very edge of it. When Stick put his hand on it, it closed, the light retreating into a solid ball. The Avengers scrambled out as he closed the one to Japan, and then stepped through the portal himself.

**********************

When Matt came to, he felt clean even though he was covered in dirt and had bits of granite sticking to his hoodie. His insides felt mellow and ... happy, and he looked down, and saw his spirit, now blue instead of purple, (if he remembered his colors correctly) as it gently faded back into its regular invisible existence.

He wanted to find Juan, but not in the frustrating, intense way he had before. “Juan!” It turned out he wasn’t far – Matt could see Juan’s Black Sky – or Blue Sky – fade. It was half-buried in some rocks that Zuri was bending away not far from the portal. Inside was Foggy, wrapped around their son as if to cover him.

But it was Juan who was awake, and he climbed out from under Foggy. “Dad!” He didn’t look like he was quite ready to abandon Foggy yet, so Matt ran to him. “Dad!”

He hugged Juan so hard it hurt. “Why are you wearing a helmet?”

“I don’t know. It was some stupid thing that saved my life. Probably.” Juan would only pull away to look back. “You were gone, but he was here. Is he going to be okay?”

Matt realized he didn’t know the answer to this question. “Foggy!” Zuri was busy removing the last of the pieces Foggy had built up around himself without hurting him, leaving Foggy lying on the ground. His shirt and some of his hair were more or less burned away, and his skin was bright red with burns. “We need a doctor!”

“I’ve got it,” Natasha said, even though she was limping and her arm was in a temporary cast. She pulled the stopper out of a small bottle with her teeth and set it on the ground beside Foggy. “Inna gave me this. It’s from the Spirit Grove.” She coaxed the water out with her good arm and gently brought it across Foggy’s burns, which either hurt or healed enough to bring him back to consciousness with a long hiss.

“Ow,” Foggy said. “Ow ow ow.” He put his head back. “I mean, don’t stop what you’re doing, but holy shit, ow. I’m not blind, am I?”

“Open your eyes,” Natasha suggested.

Foggy did so. “Oh thank G-d. He turned his head to see who was standing over him. “No offense, Matt, but like, really thank G-d.”

“I know how you feel.” Actually, there were a million times that Matt wished he could wake up that way, but he didn’t need to share that now.

“Ugh. I want to hug you, but I think that would be _super_ bad right now,” Foggy said. “Is it over? Did we win?”

“Yes, I think so,” Natasha said, looking over to the portal, now without any spirit mass pouring out of it and blocking out the sun. “I guess they found the Avatar.”

“Stick!” Matt jumped to his feet and was halfway to the portal when the Avengers emerged, looking disheveled but very alive. Inna was riding Howard, who landed next to Natasha with a considerable thump – but without Stick. He came last, not so much stepping through as flying through on a piece of stone carried by water. There was a light in Stick’s body, the kind Matt could see.

Raava.

Wordlessly, Stick turned and put his hand on the edge of the portal, which became solid and sunk down into the earth, where it became a hardened mass. He buried it in a pile of earth, then turned back to them – and collapsed.

“Stick!” Matt shouted. He couldn’t even airbend Stick to a peaceful landing. With Raava disappearing into him and her light fading, Stick fell over as if made of bricks himself. Matt cut through the Avengers, pushing them away as he knelt beside him and lifted Stick’s head and shoulders off the ground. “Stick. It’s me. I’m here. It’s okay. You did it.”

There was a brief flash of Raava again, but Stick couldn’t maintain the Avatar state for more than a second or two, fizzling in and out before his body sagged even further. “You made a promise.”

Stick had been right – Matt _did_ hate him for it, at least right now. “I know.”

“Give it about ... two years.” He was wheezing, but there was no blockage in his lungs. They were having trouble continuing their normal functions. “It won’t be me, but ... you’ll know.”

Behind them, some of those present were trying to push to Stick, probably to get him some medical attention, and others were holding them back. Matt didn’t keep track of who was who, just that Foggy was there when he probably shouldn’t have been upright, and he had a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“No crying,” Stick said, before a single tear rolled down Matt’s face. He needed to gather his breath to continue. “Or, maybe just a little. But ... just this once, Matty.”

Matt smiled despite himself. “Okay.”

Stick managed to lift one hand enough to lay it on Matt’s. “Good kid.” And then he breathed out, and didn’t breath back in.

**********************

The next few hours – days, even – were a blur to Matt, and not because of anything wrong with his senses. It was as if a wall had descended between him and the rest of the world, which was muted and distant.

“The Avatar is dead,” is the only thing he really heard anyone say, and it came from Zuri. “Long live the Avatar.” After that Matt broke down completely, and stayed that way even after he let them take Stick’s body away. Maybe it wasn’t right, but it was Juan who was standing there, for Matt to grasp for stability and cry on his shoulder.

No one told him that it was going to be okay, which was nice.

 **********************

Former members of the Chaste – the ones who were still alive, anyway – appeared at some point to help Inna with the arrangements. They had a strict policy that Black Skies – or Blue Skies, Matt supposed – had to be thoroughly cremated, to prevent any body thefts or resurrection attempts. Matt thought Stick deserved more than to be shoved in an industrial oven, and people agreed, probably because Stick was the Avatar, and the Avatar needed a proper shrine.

They found a good location a little more than hour from the city. There was a Buddhist monastery in Woodstock that could do a cremation and agreed to build a shrine, called a stupa, for his remains. Stick never professed to be Buddhist, but he had spent some key years of his life in Buddhist countries, so hopefully that counted for something. The monks and nuns were professionals about it, building a temporary structure of wood because the heat needed to be as condensed as possible. Otherwise it would take days.

Matt drifted in the fog until he was standing in front of the pyre, wearing his black Sunday suit, and being handed a long stick with a lit torch on the other end. The monk tried to guide his hand, but he resisted – not because he thought he could find the right spot himself, but because he didn’t want to do this.

“You were Stick’s heart son,” Inna said. “His most precious disciple.”

He shook his head.

“If it’s because of religious reasons ...”

“No,” he said. “I just can’t do it.”

Inna replaced the monk and put her hands where the monk’s had been. “I’ll do it, and you’ll help me.”

It was probably what Stick wanted. Also, Matt not being a pussy was definitely high on Stick’s list.

Matt had no sense of how long the ceremony was, just that it involved a lot of chanting and the occasional loud clashes of symbols and the blowing of horns. At some point it was over, even though the deed wasn’t. It would take a long time – probably through the night, at least. People came in a line and offered their condolences to Matt, and eventually they were gone, too, leaving Matt on a folding chair next to Inna as the monks and two Chaste members watched over the fire.

“Matt,” Foggy said gently. Matt hadn’t sensed his approach. He knew Foggy had never gone far. “I’m going to drive Marci back to the city. Juan wants to stay, but I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s still a kid.”

Matt nodded. Juan had known a lot of death, more than either of them, but they were unclear to what he’d actually witnessed in his village, and he’d never been back to visit his family’s graves. Matt wanted him to wait until he was older.

“I can come back. It’ll take like two or three hours – “

“It’s fine,” Matt said. His voice sounded dull and sunken.

Foggy sighed. “I’ll be back in the morning. But tell me you’ll call if you change your mind.”

“I will.” He had no idea if he was lying. They hugged. Foggy’s skin still felt strange because it was new, fresh off some Avengers skin grafting machine. It was almost too smooth, and still hairless. But otherwise, he was still Foggy. Foggy said there wouldn’t be any visible scarring on his face or neck, and also that the painkillers in the Avengers Tower were _amazing_.

Matt stayed in the monastery dorms, which were just ordinary bunk beds. He barely remembered to change out of his suit. He didn’t remember packing his bags. Foggy – Foggy must have done everything. He was exhausted, but he barely slept, tossing and turning and always smelling the human bonfire outside, no matter how much incense they set up in the building.

Sometime in the very early morning, when the dew was descending and preparing to settle on the ground, he put on a jacket and wandered outside, to the heat of the pyre. There was a monk standing guard, but also Nick Fury, without the usual stiffness in his pose. “Mr. Murdock.”

“Director Fury.”

There weren’t any words at first. There was no need for them. They were here for the spectacle of the last heat Stick’s body would ever give off.

“Stick closed all the portals except the ones at the poles. He left those open,” Fury said. “He said that at Harmonic Convergence, when the balance between the two worlds is reset or rearranged, there’s a chance that the next generation will be born with bending. Or some of them. Probably twenty or thirty percent.” He turned to Matt. “The world is going to need its master benders.”

“And people in New York have the right to an attorney who can provide a solid legal defense,” Matt said. “So we’ll see.”

They descended back into silence. It was grotesque, listening to the sounds of a crackling fire as wood collapsed around human flesh – or by now, just bones – but it didn’t feel wrong.

**********************

It took a day because the other Blue Skies insisted it be thorough. When they explained to the monks that this was a very important reincarnation, they offered to sift through the ashes for relics and signs to indicate where he might be reborn. After that they would put the ashes in a new stupa made of brick and stone, with a gold spike on top, and from there they lost Matt in the explanation of the imagery. He declined to stay for this part. His religious tolerance had been stretched to its limit.

There was a Catholic Church in Woodstock, and he made a donation to have a Mass in Stick’s name. The dust and smells from the past day were on his clothes and the inside of Foggy’s car.

“If you need more time – ” Foggy started, but Matt stopped him with a raised hand.

“No,” he said. “Let’s go. There’s work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is really a Buddhist monastery in Woodstock, founded by the 16th Karmapa. I was there in 2015. Nice place. Shame the bookstore was closed that night.


	20. First Date

A month after Stick was cremated and his remains encased in a shrine, Matt Murdock asked Natasha Romanov on a date.

It couldn’t be simpler: dinner and a movie. He could determine a good restaurant from blocks away. And yes, he told her, he did occasionally go to the movies, but he would prefer to avoid foreign films with subtitles.

Nothing about it was simple. Sure, they had _talked_ to each other on any previous occasions, on a wide variety of mundane and deeply personal topics, but there was nothing surrounding it – no expectations. This was different.

“I’ve never been on a date that wasn’t a mission,” she admitted. “Is that pathetic?”

Matt didn’t think anything about Natasha was pathetic. “I’ve never been on a date that wasn’t a pretext for something else.”

“I’m sure you were quite a charmer.”

“Which is why I used to skip over dinner,” he said. The menu in front of him was freshly-printed, and he could read the letters, but he didn’t need to. “That and I couldn’t afford it. And don’t get the salmon. Don’t get any of the fish.”

“What a romantic thing to say.”

He could read her now, and tell if she was being polite or nice because it was her training slipping into place, even by accident, or if it was the raw version of her – and _she_ knew that _he_ knew. She’d seen him at his emotional bottom and touched his Blue Sky (via waterbending) back when it was still angry and possessive. They couldn’t be fake with each other, the way people on first dates were, out of nerves. There was some fumbling in the dark.

It went well. The night didn’t end in any proposals (which would have been followed by a smack in the face, probably by the arm that was still in the hard plastic cast) or romantic flourishes, but it was romantic. And most importantly, she agreed to try it again.

They were both people who could not easily be tied down, which was both convenient (personality-wise) and a potential disaster. Matt had never been in a romantic relationship with one person for long. Natasha was a former spy and current Avenger. She was trained to be ready to drop her life at a moment’s notice, and sometimes did. The timing wasn’t fantastic either – Matt was still grieving, and some of the whole project was just that he didn’t want to be alone, particularly in the quiet hours of the night, when Juan had gone to bed or claimed he had gone to bed but was at his computer. But it did feel good, to normalize this into something more than being in each other’s beds for only one reason. Natasha was still recovering from Harmonic Convergence. She had the very best medical care, but bones still needed time to knit, and it was, as she put it, “Nice to have something to do with my time.”

“Can you tell?” She held up her arm.

“That it’s broken?”

“The pins,” she said. “They’re some kind of biogenetic plastic, whatever that means.”

“If they were metal, I would have noticed,” he said. “Your right arm is definitely different than your left arm, but it’s subtle. I’m not sure if that’s just the injury and the cast throwing me off.”

“They’re supposed to be very close to bone. Same weight, same density.”

“Smell? Taste?”

She swatted him with a pillow. “Don’t be gross.”

“I work with the senses I’ve got.”

“Well, I assure you that you can’t _see_ it.”

It was a fairly easy thing for Juan, since he knew Natasha already, and that his father had dated her, though they had always been at her place, or a safe house – and once, a hotel – and home was different. But his other dad was married so he was used to an unusual family structure, even if the fact that both his dads had sex lives was still “totally gross” and made them promise to never ever bring it up, and he was “serious this time”. It was still a small apartment, with paper-thin walls separating Juan’s room from Matt’s, so they did their best to work around Juan’s schedule without him knowing it.

After a few months, she was there more often than not, but that would change when her physical therapy was done and she was mission active, which she still wanted to be. And again, she drew the line at church.

“Where am I going to find a nice Catholic girl?” he lamented to her.

“Matt, you have a statue of Buddhist goddess on your windowsill.”

“That was a gift.”

“And a scroll with a lion turtle on it in your kitchen.”

“I don’t worship the lion turtles.” As far as he knew, it said “Air” on it in Japanese. He could feel the ink, but it’s not as if he had a lot of experience tracing Japanese kanji. “They’re just around. In the Spirit World. And maybe Wakanda, but that would be a state secret that I wouldn’t be permitted to divulge.”

“And I’m not saying anything about the bonsai tree on Fury’s desk,” Natasha replied. “If you ever get a chance to inspect it.”

Matt didn’t ask where Fury got all of his things. That was a stupid question.

**********************

Natasha was in France for some undisclosed reason or other when Marci went into labor, for which Matt was just a teensy bit grateful. He didn’t know Natasha’s history, just the results, and they didn’t discuss it. But maybe it wasn’t somewhere she’d want to be.

Marci didn’t want to be crowded – she had her mother and insisted that she didn’t want well-wishers clogging up the waiting room. Foggy was the one who had to be talked down, which was the only real reason Matt was there, after he sent Juan home for it being a school night.

“What if I – fuck – ”

“Foggy,” Matt said. “You’re already a great dad. You’ll be fine.”

“But these are babies! What if I drop them? OH MY G-D MATT WHAT IF I DROP THEM.”

“Foggy. Deep breaths.”

“YOU DIDN’T ANSWER ME.”

It was good for Foggy to freak out in front of Matt, because it was out of his system when he went back in with Marci, who had handled it well until that point (thanks to an epidural).

Matt texted Juan in the morning, knowing he might ignore it; teenagers could be heavy sleepers in the morning.

_GIRLS_.

Foggy and Marci had known long ago, but they hadn’t shared it with him, for which he honestly could not blame them. But he was the first to hold one of them after Marci, Foggy, and Marci’s mother, before they went under the lights and before everyone else got the news and rushed in.

“Hold her – here – “ Foggy tried to rearrange the baby in Matt’s arms but found he didn’t have to. “How do you know how to hold a baby?”

Foggy still had his scrubs on; he smelled like placenta. Matt decided not to mention that. “I grew up in an orphanage.”

“Right. People left babies in a basket on the front steps.”

“It was a little less dramatic than that,” he said. Foggy was very, very tired – and smiling. Matt could tell that. The baby was all bundled up, with very little flesh exposed, and he wasn’t about to stick his fingers in her tiny face.

“Is there anything you can, um, tell?”

“Foggy, if something was medically wrong with your child, I would just tell you. You wouldn’t have to ask.”

Mrs. Stahl (Matt was pretty sure her proper name was Nancy) helped him put pictures of the babies on his phone. Only after that did he actually go in to see Marci.

“Mazel Tov.”

“Ha _ha_.” Her wit was drier than usual. Or her body was just that drained of fluids. “There’s no epidural for _after_. So, am I beaming with motherly pride?”

“How would I know?”

“I don’t keep a running catalog of what you can do,” she said. There was no malice in it. She wasn’t giddy, but she was happy. And very, very tired. “Is there anything else to tell me?”

“No.”

“Did you know they were girls?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Then you can be trained after all.” She waved him off. “Now shoo. I have other responsibilities right now.”

Matt left and she napped until Juan came by. He knew how to hold a baby, too. He spent a long time staring at her.

“Juan,” Foggy said, concerned.

“I was there when my sister was born,” he said. “The younger one. It was two months before. Papa was at work and there was no one to watch Lita so we went to the clinic with Mama.”

His fathers were silent. Juan never talked about his family in Mexico, except to tell someone they weren’t alive and get the topic out of the way. Juan was the third child out of five. He’d never even said the names of siblings before.

“Can I name her?”

“We would certainly appreciate your input,” Foggy said, which was a lie Matt didn’t call him on.

Juan didn’t believe him, but he didn’t say anything. He held both of them before they went back in their bassinets. By then, the Nelsons had arrived, and Matt and Juan said quick hellos to them before they were off with Foggy to see their new grandchildren.

“It’s okay to be sad,” Matt said in the elevator. “It’s okay to cry.”

“Everyone’s so happy. I feel bad about it.”

He put a hand on Juan’s shoulder. “You can feel two things at the same time.”

By the time they reached the first floor Juan was crying into Matt’s shirt, but no one took notice of it, it being a hospital. He took him home so they could both get some more sleep. Juan wanted to cry but not talk, and Matt didn’t push him.

“Is it okay that we left?”

“Oh, I think we’re going to see plenty of them very soon.”

**********************

Matt wasn’t wrong.

The baby naming ceremony was at a local synagogue on the Upper West Side instead of Marci’s parents’ synagogue in New Jersey. They joined B’nai Jeshurun (or, as it was unfortunately shortened to, BJ) because Marci said it was never too early to think about pre-school connections and Foggy said it was the “celebrity” synagogue, as if Foggy didn’t know enough celebrities.

“So this is not a bris?” Juan whispered on the way in.

Matt did not want to be the one to explain this, or explain that he had to look it up, too. “Brises are only for boys.”

“Why?”

“Look, just google it.”

The girls were officially named Hannah and Sarah, after Marci’s grandparents, because Jews didn’t name their kids after living people. The Nelsons were there – even Rosalind Sharpe was there, but she didn’t identify herself. Natasha made it back in time for the food served after services.

“I can be around children, you know,” she whispered to Matt.

“Good, because I’m gonna be babysitting _a lot_.”

Matt was good on his promise to “hold down on the fort” at Nelson and Murdock while Foggy was on paternity leave, which led to far fewer Daredevil sightings, except for that time he walked into a pizza shop in full gear at three in the morning and ordered takeout for four. He paid cash and the owner put the bills up on a celebrity auction site.

“If you show up at a BuyBuy Baby, people are gonna start saying you’ve knocked up Black Widow,” Foggy said from where he was very sunk into his couch, barely able to hold up his smartphone. His older daughter was sound asleep on her back on the cushion beside him. She was still at the age where she basically did nothing except eat and sleep. “You know the onesie you bought her has a Spider-man print on it, right?”

He sighed. “I specifically told the salesperson I did _not_ want Avengers stuff.”

“Then they don’t think much of Spider-man. I’ll let him know.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want Peter thinking Sarah doesn’t care for him.”

“That’s Hannah.”

Foggy picked his head up and checked the band around her wrist. “No! I have to stop doing this!” He said to Matt’s chuckling. “How do you know? Is it smell?”

“Mike can tell,” he answered.

“Cheater. You’re a lousy cheater, that’s what you are. First the heartbeats and now which kid is which. They look the same!” He pointed at Matt. “Not a word to Marci.”

“I heard that!” Marci shouted from the bedroom. “You have to check the armband!”

“It’s dark!”

“You don’t see Matt complaining!”

“Matt, I love you,” Foggy said, “but if you stay, you may be witness to a murder. Of me. Or her. Honestly, it might go either way.”

“My testimony won’t hold up in court,” he said. “But I can take a hint. Good luck.”

“No more pizza!” Marci shouted.

“Next time I’ll bring Chinese,” he said, sliding open the porch window.

“Matt,” Foggy begged, “the elevator exists.”

“I know,” Matt said as he hopped up onto the railing. “But why bother?” And he stepped backwards, into the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> (1) Yes, BJ is the "celebrity synagogue." It's on 88th Street. If you want to see Cynthia Nixon or maybe Jerry Seinfeld on Yom Kippur, you go there. I used to, but their services are really long and sometimes they use instruments on Shabbat. I got SUPER drunk there on Pruim once. Like the most drunk I have ever been. 
> 
> (2) Of course Nick Fury has a baby lion turtle because why wouldn't he?


	21. A Breath of Fresh Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes up front:
> 
> \- This chapter is named after the first episode of Legend of Korra that takes place after Harmonic Convergence.  
> \- I did as much research as I could on Wakanda, which has been inconsistently portrayed over the years. I confess I don't understand the new series at all, but that's because I don't know much about African mythology and storytelling traditions, but I don't need to be the audience for every comic Marvel produces. I apologize for any mistakes from my research. I did notice that a lot of Wakandan women seem to have "A" names, so I ran with that.

Epilogue

3 Years Later

Africa was hot. Not disgustingly so, like New York in the summer, because there was less humidity and more wind, though the tarmac was just noisy and smelly like tarmacs tended to be. This was Matt’s first time walking straight onto one from the plane. The only other travelers were businessmen and ambassadors, from the cut of their expensive suits and the rattling inside their expensive briefcases. The drinks on the flight were free, and Matt made it through the trip by availing himself quite a few of them, so he was dehydrated as well when his feet hit the pavement.

“Welcome to Wakanda, Mr. Murdock,” said his greeter, identifying himself those words. He took Matt’s bag and turned swiftly to the waiting car, holding his arm out just enough to indicate that Matt could take it if he wanted to, which he did. He was discombobulated by the flight but didn’t want to admit it; the guide didn’t make him. The guide didn’t make him talk much at all, which he appreciated. “His Highness will be greeting you at the guest house. He felt that would be less ostentatious.”

Matt mumbled something about it not being necessary, and thought it was maybe a little embarrassing for the king to be going out of his way like this, but he certainly didn’t force the issue. The roads were flat and there was no traffic and he was proud not to get carsick. In fact, by the time of their arrival he had composed himself a bit, though he still must have looked like a mess for a man who was about to be greeted by royalty.

And he was greeted by royalty, even if it was just the king himself. T’Challa was older than he remembered, but maybe he just seemed older because three years was a long time to be king, even if he wasn’t new to the position. “Matthew.”

“Your Majesty.” They shook, and T’Challa led him to his room without making the big deal of it that a normal person would.

“I thought it might be better if you were here for other reasons, so I’ve provided you with a cover story, if you choose to use it,” T’Challa explained. “Can you pretend to be a well-meaning American NGO who doesn’t know what he’s doing in Africa?”

“Especially one who’s heatsick,” Matt said. “Do you get a lot of those?”

“No one will give you a second glance,” T’Challa said. As they entered the suite, he tapped on the glass panel on the wall. “If you don’t mind, recite your name.”

“Matthew Murdock.”

“ _Matthew Murdock_ ,” a disembodied voice said back to him. “ _Please repeat the following phrases to establish voice profile: Dolphin. Enthusiastic. Green. Triad_.”

“Uh, dolphin, enthusiastic, green, triad.”

There was a beep. “ _Voice profile complete. To make a request, simply say, ‘Computer.’ To dismiss, say ‘Dismiss.’_ ”

“Dismiss.”

“All of the rooms are controlled by holoscreen,” T’Challa explained, sounding a little embarrassed. “This one is now installed with voice commands.”

“And it’s not going to spy on me?”

“No,” T’Challa said. He wasn’t lying. “There are no cameras. Just sensors. If you need anything that the computer can’t get you ... then I will be impressed.” He slapped him on the back. “Please relax. Dinner is at six if you care to join us. No one will ask you too many questions. But until then, please rest.”

“I look like it, huh?”

“No one _likes_ plane travel,” T’Challa said politely, and left. He always moved silently, in a way that was just a little bit eerie, even to Matt. But that wasn’t any surprise.

Matt didn’t bother himself with too much thinking. He knew better. He drank a quart of bottled water that had been boiled as well, giving it a flat but clean taste, showered, and buried his head in the pillows. They smelled like grass – everything smelled like tall grass – which was a soothing scent that was not totally overwhelmed by the cleaning solutions used on the furniture.

“Call Foggy,” he told his phone, with a pillow still over his head.

It took Foggy a few rings to pick up, or else it was the international call taking time to go through. “Hey. How’s Wakanda?”

“Shhh. Secret mission,” he mumbled.

“Are you ... drunk?”

“I wish I still was.”

“You drank on the plane, didn’t you?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Matt had ridden on commercial planes very few times in his life, and he wasn’t looking to change that anytime soon. “I need a therapy pet. For planes.”

“I am not a pet, Matt.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It is _super_ what you meant,” Foggy said. There was giggling in the background. “Shh, I’m talking. Yes, to Uncle Matt.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“Okay, but first you have to guess – “

“It’s Sarah.”

“And I was going to say no cheating, but there you go.”

“I’m really sorry I can tell your kids apart,” Matt said. “Hi Sarah.”

“Hi Uncle Matt.”

“Hi Sarah.”

“Hi Uncle Matt.”

“How was pre-school?”

“Hi Uncle Matt.”

“And I’ll just be taking this, sweetie,” Foggy said as he commandeered the phone. “Sorry, she’s not – no no no, put that down – Hey that’s part of the wall – no it needs to be there – “ There was a lot of noise on his end, which came out as harsh static to Matt. “She’s um, at the office with me today.”

“I thought Hannah was the one suspended because of the sandbox incident.”

“Technically she is, but Sarah had a fever this morning, so we flipped ‘em. But now that I have _depositions to go over_ , she’s feeling fine.” There was the sound of something dropping and giggling. “Hey, so, let’s think about new office walls. Glass or metal. Your choice.”

“I’ll let you go.”

“Good luck,” Foggy said. “Um, I hope you find him.”

Matt mumbled his thanks and ended the call.

**********************

After a short rest, Matt felt much better, and managed his way to the king’s table, the open dinner offered to high level guests and government workers. Fortunately it was more of a cocktail party than a sit-down dinner, so Matt could pick what he liked and avoid small-talk with people who wanted to ask about his tattoos.

Zuri was there to welcome him and usher him to the secure offices after the meal. There were some people at their computers, and a small flatscreen table in the middle. Zuri punched at it, so Matt figured there was a holoscreen there. T’Challa was quick to join him.

“Here,” T’Challa said, and nubs emerged from the table that were solid enough for Matt to sense them. He ran his fingers across uneven valleys and maybe ... round buildings? “This village is in the Jabari-land, north of here and close to the border with Mohannda. Do you mind if I -?”

“Go ahead.”

T’Challa took Matt’s hand and guided it over specific bumps. “According to our satellite images, this is what the village used to look like. Huts, a mill, a school. Maybe thirty or forty families.” He tapped on the screen and all of the nubs fell down. “This is what is what it looks like now.” They reassembled themselves, but it was mostly flat, with strange lumps of uneven ground that didn’t feel the same. “We think a Mohanndan guerilla force came across, to raid their supplies.” He helped Matt find two square items sticking up. “The trucks are still there. Abandoned. One of them is half-buried in earth.” He pressed both their fingers against a flat section. “That was the school. Nothing but rubble. And here – “ He showed him a wavy surface. “A new lake, drawing on groundwater a mile deep.”

Matt nodded grimly. “And the people?”

“Scattered. They’ve probably ended up in refugee camps. It was a small enough village to not have a commonly-used name, so the people will go by tribal names that the relief agencies might not record or spell correctly. We have some vaccination records in the capitol, but they’re at least five years old. The more recent ones would have been in their own storage center.”

“And the guerillas?”

“We’re not sure. They probably fled back across the border, but sometimes they drop their weapons and change out of their uniforms and claim to be from a local tribe. NGOs can’t tell the difference.” He released Matt’s hand and the map disappeared. “Our estimates were that this was about a month ago, long enough for them to reach refugee camps in Birnin T’Chaka or Birnin Djata, but they might have come as far as the capitol. Our housing and medical facilities are better. Someone with young children would want to come here, where there are schools not run by foreigners. So we might get lucky. If not, we will keep looking.”

All Matt could say was, “When do we start?”

**********************

Refugees tended to be suspicious, even of their own government, especially one run by a different tribe than their own. They didn’t speak the same dialect, and they might not get along with each other. Some of them were in hiding from other members of their tribes. All of this led to an attitude of paranoia, T’Challa explained.

He was still a popular king and a celebrity, so when they announced that he was to make a formal visit to the new camps, bringing candy for the children, they lined up in neat rows to greet him, held back by ropes to keep them in line and away from the jeeps. T’Challa got out and walked in front of his jeep. He was wearing flowing robes and a crown for the occasion, and to make himself more recognizable. He gestured for Matt to join him, the white foreigner in a safari hat and carrying a cane – Stick’s, not his. The other hand carried the bag of candy for T’Challa to replenish his own as he passed sugary fruit snacks to child after child. They were supposed to be segregated by age, but many children didn’t know their age, or lied about it to get into a better position to see the king.

“And where are you from, young man?” the king asked, making small talk with some of the children even as they robbed his pockets for a few extra sweets. He patted them on their heads and showed that he cared. He tried to calm the fears of the parents standing protectively behind them, listening to their complaints and concerns. It was slow progress but he was a patient man.

Matt trailed behind him, sweating under his green janitor’s jacket and tapping his cane against the gravel when he felt a tug. He swung the cane away and it went away, but as soon as it was repossessed, he felt it again. Between the tightly-squeezed line of children, a hand was sticking out to grab the cane and pull it tight.

She said something in Xhosa. When Matt pulled, she pulled back, with a long of strength behind her tiny arm.

“Hello,” he said, ignoring the others. He dropped the bag of candy, and they dove for it, clearing his path to the little girl beyond them. “And who are you?”

“ _Am!_ ” she said again in Xhosa. “ _Am!_ ”

By now T’Challa had noticed, and turned back to look at what was going on. “What belongs to you?”

It was enough of a distraction that she tore the cane right out of Matt’s hand and took off running in the other direction, deep into the camp.

The security guards moved first, but Matt put a hand up. “Let me handle this. Your Highness, continue the tour.” Without thinking much about just having given orders to an African monarch, he leaped right over the children and up onto the supporting poles of the medical tent before diving deep into the camp.

It was a true maze of humans and their piled collections. Tents that were supposed to be organized in a grid weren’t, and large tents were used to form temporary black marketplaces, filled with the sounds and smells of hastily-traded goods (mostly food and clothing). Everyone was wearing second-hand donation clothes over their rags, or maybe just some homespun blankets tied around the neck, and the combination of unwashed masses and chemical toilets made for some interesting scents. He focused on the girl, who was good at evasion, and knew every inch of her path, and which tent to run through and which carts to leap over. He almost lost her until he sensed her bouncing from tent pole to tent pole before disappearing into a pile of discarded blankets. When he gave chase, she spun around and a gush of wind buried him in the filthy blankets. When he blew them off him, he was facing not her but a young woman in a full-length gown, with her hair covered in a traditional scarf. The combination of fear and grim determination on her face told him why this girl was hiding behind her.

“You’re her mother,” he said, and she gave no indication of understanding him. He noticed that she was alone in this tent, which was situated a bit far from the main traffic. “I’m not here to hurt here.” He pointed to the cane, which the girl held tightly against herself. “That’s mine.”

“ _Am!_ ” she repeated, driving it into the dirt.

Matt smiled at the mother. He removed his hat and bended down to face the daughter directly, his eyes hidden behind glasses. “I’ll give it to you if you know who I am.” He held out a hand.

Despite her fierce insistence on keeping the cane, she ducked into her mother’s gown, burying her long curls and face there.

People were gathering behind this white interloper now. The mother bowed first, not to him, but to T’Challa, who had just pulled back to the tent flap. He said something to her in Xhosa, probably telling her that she not to bow to him, because that was the kind of person he was.

“She says she had to leave her home,” T’Challa translated. “But she won’t say where she’s from. I told her she must return your cane.”

“ _Am!_ ” the little girl said again, not exactly showing the king the same respect as her mother.

“She says it’s hers,” T’Challa said.

“Tell her that I’ll give it to her if she can tell me my name.”

If T’Challa thought that was a weird request, he kept it to himself, and translated.

The girl emerged from her mother’s arms. She did not give back the cane. Instead, she struck him in the leg with it, almost causing him to tip over. “ _Mati_.”

The woman went to restrain her daughter, but Matt had T’Challa assure her that wasn’t necessary. T’Challa and the woman talked a bit more as Matt stopped hopping on one leg.

“She’s from the North. She won’t get more specific, but the trim of her gown – that’s a Jabari style.”

“Is there anyone else here with her?”

“They went somewhere else,” T’Challa said. “Not with her. She’s on her own.”

“Will she say why they left?”

The woman answered the question with more energy. She sounded evasive, and eager to be out of this conversation.

“She won’t say more,” T’Challa said. “She’s a simple woman traveling with her daughter. She is not of any consequence.”

“That’s what she said?”

“Yes, that is how she put it. Should I - ?”

“We should keep it under wraps. But they can’t stay here.” He knelt in front of the girl again. “What’s your name?”

T’Challa translated, and the girl said, “A’Zumi.” Her mother shushed her, as if she’d done something wrong, but the king spoke in reassuring tones. He chatted with A’Zumi, too.

“I will go back to my people before half of my guards are here,” T’Challa said. “A’Zumi is very eager to go with you. Can you take them both to the road to the palace? Zuri will meet you.”

“Sure.” He put his head in A’Zumi’s direction and waved to the entrance. “Come on!”

Instead of walking, A’Zumi jumped first onto the empty box of supplies, than right onto him, landing on his back, intent on a ride on his shoulders. She never let go of the cane. “Mati, Mati!”

She almost struck him in the head, but he grabbed the cane before it got too close.

“Not in this lifetime,” he said, and started off for the edge of camp.

**********************

“Are you sure that it’s him?”

Matt did not take the question lightly. He had to justify himself to the entire holoconference – Grand Lotuses Inna and Sotah, with Zuri and T’Challa (now a full White Lotus member) in the room. In the corner, beyond their screens, A’Zumi was playing with a set of blocks by stacking them up and blowing them down, with her watchful mother sitting beside her.

“She’s an airbender,” he said. “She’s the right age, and she knew my name. She identified Stick’s things.”

“And her village was destroyed by someone wielding all of the elements,” T’Challa added. “Her mother won’t say who did it, or why they’re separated from their tribe. Even her husband and sons went elsewhere.”

“If they saw her destroy the village to stop the guerillas, they _would_ be afraid of her,” Sotah said.

“I don’t think she knows she did it,” T’Challa said. He got the most out of A’Zumi, for which Matt was somewhat jealous. “She might not remember. She’s young.”

“The Avatar State is complicated,” Inna said. “It can be a self-defense mechanism.”

“But we haven’t seen her bend anything else,” Zuri said. “Just air.”

“It’s your call, Matthew,” Inna said.

He knew what was in his gut, but this girl wasn’t a Black Sky, as Stick had been. That would have made the recognition instantaneous. “I need some time to think about it.”

“This is not something to be rushed,” Sotah said. “We trust your judgement.”

“He’s bowing to you,” Zuri whispered. Matt didn’t know what to think of that.

**********************

T’Challa took A’Kila (that was the mother’s name) and her daughter into the royal household. This was nothing unusual; T’Challa could be a sort of Wakandan godfather to as many children as he wanted. Many of them would go into civil service, or even become his bodyguards, and they were often the poor or refugees. There was even a series of homes built for this community, with a school and shared resources like playgrounds and schools for different ages.

Among her peers, A’Zumi opened up, though she was quite competitive at soccer. Her mother seemed relieved, but reluctant to reveal much about their past. She kept an eye on her, and would yell at anyone who tried to separate them, even for the most mundane reasons.

Zuri provided Matt with an English-to-Xhosa translator. It was imperfect, but they would make do. Matt set the machine beside them as they sat on the bench overlooking the soccer field.

“Your daughter is an airbender,” he said, wondering how airbending would translate. “Like I am.” To demonstrate, he kicked up a small stone and made it rotate around his hands without touching it.

She nodded, and he continued. “I assume your village rejected her because of her powers.”

Again, she nodded, but said nothing.

“There’s nothing wrong with her. In fact, she’s very special,” he said, pausing to let the translator do its work. “The king will provide for both of you. He will give her an education. She will be safe here, if you don’t want to go back to your village.”

She said, and the translator said in more a more monotone voice, “There is nothing there to go back to.”

Matt nodded. “I understand.”

“You am not know what happened,” was the translator’s attempt to speak A’Kila’s words for her. “If you am know, you will not tell her.”

“She doesn’t remember?”

A’Kila shook her head.

“That’s for the best,” Matt said. “When I was young, I had powers, too. A man came and taught me how to control them. When he died, he made me promise I would do the same for someone else. I think that person is your daughter.”

“She is little girl.”

“There will be time. Later. Not soon.”

On this, they seemed to agree.

**********************

“So, is it her? Is she him?”

 _Let me get close_ , his Blue Sky said.

“No,” he told him. He was in a meditation position on the floor of his guest room, seated on one of the cushions from the couch, because he had a tendency to float while meditating and then fall when he came out of it.

 _Not like what you’re thinking_ , Mike said. _We’ll call Raava_.

“But no touching.”

 _No touching_.

Speak of the Devil. There was a knock at his door, low but very insistent. He threw on a shirt and answered it, knowing who was on the other side. “What are you doing here? It’s very late. Where’s your mother?” But A’Zumi bounded in all the same and started playing with his computer. Matt sighed and turned the translator on. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she said, “You’re not Wakandan.”

“No.”

“So are you leaving me?”

He didn’t know why that hit him so hard. She wasn’t begging, precisely. She certainly wasn’t doing so as hard as she was capable of. “Who told you that?”

Again, no direct answer. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Matt scratched his head, then said, “Sit down. On the pillow.” He indicated for her to take his spot. “Now sit still, and close your eyes.”

Without questioning him, she did so. He sat down opposite her, wondering what she looked like. She had short hair, and she wasn’t chubby, but she still had a belly. Zuri had said her eyes were grey, unusual for Wakandans.

She was fidgeting but he was focused. He took a deep breath in, and with the breath out, he released his Blue Sky. Mike could never get far from his body, but he could stretch himself. He was invisible to most people. They had to be attuned to him to him, and only if Matt said he could show himself.

He hadn’t given permission, but A’Zumi jumped up with a giggle and ran towards him, reaching out to try to touch the blue mass emerging from his edges. They couldn’t truly make contact because Blue Sky wasn’t corporeal enough, but when they crossed the same air, Matt felt a jolt and his eyes shot open, and he was looking at Stick, just sitting there where A’Zumi had been. He wasn’t there – no smells, no sounds, nothing for Matt’s radar sense to pick up on – but the blue light was in his shape.

“Good to see you again, kid,” Stick said, his voice mixed with Raava’s. “I’d say don’t go easy on me, but you probably will.”

“Stick,” he said, choking up. “She’s a little girl.”

“Can she see?”

“Yes.”

“Then she’s way ahead of both of us. And she’s the Avatar. That’s a lot of responsibility. She needs training. She needs you.” He tilted his head. “And other people. You’re not so special.”

“Stick – “

“We can’t talk, Matty. This is one-off. I’m her now, and she’s the person you have to be so annoyingly devoted to. Don’t let me down.”

There was a bright light, blinding even, and then the darkness was back, and so was A’Zumi, acting a little dazed, unsure of what had happened to her.

“Avatar A’Zumi,” Matt said, pulling him into his arms. “It’s an honor to meet you. And nice to see you again.”

He didn’t care exactly how that was translated. He didn’t know what A’Zumi thought he was, only that she seemed as interested in being hugged as he was in holding her.

A’Zumi said, and then the translator said, “Why am I crying?”

“Because you know me, and we’ve missed each other.”

“Will you stay with me?” she asked again.

“For as long as I can.”

**********************

Certain arrangements were made. A’Zumi and her mother would live with the patronage of the royal family, with her as one of T’Challa’s many godchildren. She would have the best of everything, but it being Wakanda, she would be protected from too much privilege, and never allowed to be too cut off from the ordinary people. She would not be raised above her peers; they wouldn’t tell her what the Avatar was until she was older. There was no rush to master airbending. Matt would come when he could, staying for a month at a time, so she could learn from a master airbender. It was why Stick trained him, Inna said. So Matt could train the new Avatar. When she mastered it, she would move on to waterbending with Inna when school was out, but otherwise, she would be a normal child with ordinary surroundings, as much as they could manage it.

They would not reveal the identity of the Avatar to anyone except highly-ranked White Lotus members, and always refer to her as a “he” to throw people off the scent.

She wasn’t Stick. He’d been right about that. She could be fierce and strong, and she was unusually athletic for a girl her age, but she had a soft heart and was eager to please. Matt didn’t want to see her harden. He wanted her to be happy.

Saying goodbye was painful, and with many promises to return. When she was a bit older, and fluent in English, she could visit him in New York.

If she had been Stick, he would never have been able to leave.

Natasha was the one who greeted him on the private airfield in New Jersey where the Wakandan jet landed. “You found him.”

“I just keep collecting kids that aren’t mine,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Have I said anything about it?”

“You sat through Juan’s school’s awful production of Godspell,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I think that says a lot.”

They were quiet on the ride home. Matt was tired from the plane and cranky, that part only slightly overwhelmed by his happiness to be home. When they returned to their apartment – and it had slowly inched towards becoming _theirs_ , even though they weren’t married, and often apart – he crawled into bed, and even though she wasn’t tired, she laid down beside him. Both of them were still clothed, but together.

“I found him,” he said. “I found the Avatar. I kept my promise.”

“So what now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m looking forward to it.”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! This series is over. Can you believe it started as a Kinkmeme fill for a prompt about the Winter Soldierization of Daredevil from Prompt #1? What actually happened was that a number of people tried to fill it, but no one had completed a story, so I decided to give it a try. The now-deleted story "Out of Order" was actually my biggest inspiration. 
> 
> I'm looking forward to moving on to other things. I do have some headcanons for what happens to the characters over the years. It doesn't really form a story, so if you want to know how someone/something turns out, ask me in comments and I'll answer you as best I can. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story/series, please leave a comment. Or, if you despise me and everything I stand for, at the very least please leave a note of thanks for my fantastic betas: marmolita, Zelofheda and LachesisMeg. They deserve a round of applause!

**Author's Note:**

> For previews, fanart, and me generally being opinionated about Daredevil, check out [my Tumblr](http://devilofmidtownwest.tumblr.com/).


End file.
